Turn the Lights Out
by chocgirl
Summary: AU/ When the new neighbour, Alex Vause, moves in a few doors from Piper Chapman; the idealistic waitress who has lived a blissfully single life, sparks begin to fly and egos start to clash. It's a hate-love relationship that turns fiery right from the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

**1.** Mixed signals

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 _AN: Just a little something before S4. (First person perspective is Piper's) Enjoy!_

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Did I even have the right key?

I've been struggling to jam my supposed key into the lock of my apartment front door for the last half hour. No matter what angle I was twisting it into - it just wouldn't go in. I briefly contemplate just sagging against the front door and spending my night right here on the floor.

It serves me right for not being able to say no when Tom the bartender - at the behest of my overzealous friend, Polly Harper - had kept insisting I should have one more margarita. Each drink offered had seemed like a better and better idea. There _had_ been a sliver of sober brain at the time that had made a flimsy attempt in reminding me this was how axe murderers always made their first move: get the silly lonesome woman lamenting her first world problems, well and truly drunk before luring her back into their lairs.

But I hadn't cared.

I've just worked close to a fifty hour week and and _I_ \- more than anyone, deserved to forget about life's issues for just one night, even if that included neglecting important things like stranger danger. Plus Tom had nice blue eyes, and surely serial killers didn't have smouldering eyes that looked they wanted to bed me or told lame jokes that had me laughing way _way_ too loudly at them.

Anyway, so I now found myself locked out of my front door and inadvertently reenacting the life of a homeless person. Just to give you a flavour of how well my night had gone; I couldn't even remember the journey home let alone stand up straight, that's how close to catatonic I was at the moment.

"Fuck fuck fuck."

It was maybe three-ish in the morning and my thirty year old body was reminding me just so. Every joint possible was aching and it felt as though someone had hurled me into a well of treacle and left me there to fester. And don't mention the humongous bruise over my upper arm already beginning to show its face - I silently curse Polly - she had an annoying predilection of delivering over-enthusiastic fist thumps whenever she overstepped her limit of three drinks.

It hadn't even been more than a few hours since I got here, and already felt as though I was beginning my slow descent into a fully blown hangover. I probably looked like death warmed over, even worse when I had to be up at eight the next morning - which implied that I should be asleep in the first place, something which wasn't going to be happening any time soon as I pitifully stared at my house-key.

My phone starts ringing. I stupidly realise I could have just rang Polly and asked her nicely whether I could crash at hers for the night. It was infinitely better than resting my head against the grimy wooden hallway floor of the apartment complex I lived in. God knew what kind of bodily fluids had dried up here. I fish my phone out of my handbag and was about to answer when the display suddenly dies, together with my Florence & The Machine's _Take Care_ ringtone.

I hiss out my fourth _fuck_ of the night.

The battery had gone and apparently so had my patience and general giving a fuck about things. I pull myself upright, which is no mean feat in itself. I precariously sway for a second or so before making a beeline for the stair bannister, thankfully correcting my centre of gravity and grab onto my dress which for some reason kept sliding down at the front despite it being a halter neck. I didn't have that much cleavage to start off with but through the course of the night it had transformed itself into the most low-lying dress ever. I had complained to Polly about this who had just insisted there was a definite correlation between degree of lowlying-ness and the probability of getting laid.

That _hadn't_ happened.

And if there was any truth in that - my dress would have to be around my knees before _anyone_ considered making that theory come true.

I make a brief plan of scaling back downstairs and hailing a cab to Polly's. If I went now, I would at least get a few hours of restful sleep.

I'm halfway across the hallway when my foot catches against something. One minute I'm walking in a semi-straight line, the next I have taken flight and veer forwards, hurtling through the air before landing in a sorry heap a few metres away. I'm too busy swearing all kinds of profanity to even realise my right arm is throbbing like an absolute bitch and have apparently also lost one heel in the midst of my spectacular fall. I glance back and spot the culprit; a pile of trash stacked so high, it really could have been given its own zip code.

Lo and behold it just had to be the trash belonging to number forty-three. It just had to be _hers._

 _Alex Vause._

I momentarily forget about my lost heel or even the searing pain that was currently traversing through the entirety of my arm and instead focus all of my drunken anger at her door. Trust her to leave this fucking rubbish outside her door, like she owned the place and couldn't even be bothered to walk the few extra metres toward the trash chute. It took a certain measured arrogance to be so blasé and unbothered.

All I knew about her - Alex Vause - was that she had recently moved into the complex and had a penchant for revving her stupid, annoying motorbike at at even more stupid o'clock, had the local pizza express on speed dial and was so inclined to piss me off at every given opportunity that we saw each other, it was of no surprise the rapid decline of my night, somehow had to involve her.

It didn't help we were practically neighbours, made even worse was we left the apartment around the same time each morning which meant I had to endure many elevator rides with her. I think I may have imagined it but those elevator rides took at least twice as long to reach the ground and felt about three times more confined every time we caught one together. It's her snarky comments that always set my teeth on edge - which wasn't doing a whole load of good for my jaw muscles. At this rate I needed to start taking pre-emptive Tylenols whenever I knew I was going to bump into Alex.

I think my great dislike for her stemmed from that one time she rather loudly pointed out the piece of salad stuck between my teeth. I mean, I know according to unwritten social rules I'm supposed to thank her, but she lost that privilege when she declared this in front of Ben, the guy who I've already married in my imagination, and lived a few doors down from us.

Thankfully, she worked for some fancy-ass advertising company which must have its perks because she was forever travelling to and fro the airport but meant for me I hardly got to see her.

I now stared hard at the door, debating.

I was in the process of sliding a passive-aggressive note under her door, when it suddenly swings open.

"It's a bit early for postal deliveries, don't you think?"

We both simultaneously glance at the scrap paper scribbled with my awful shorthand made worse by my drunken state.

I'm still recovering from shocked surprise when Alex locks eyes with me. "A personalised letter?" She smirks just as she picks it up. "How sweet. You know I was just speaking to my mom the other day and we were talking about how it's about time old-fashioned letter writing should make its comeback."

"You shouldn't leave your trash out there in the open." I blurted out shamelessly. We both don't seem to address that this is the first conversation we've had over the last few months that consisted of more than three words.

"You woke up especially to write me a note, telling me this? You couldn't wait until the morning?"

I don't answer but instead resign myself to watching her briefly skimread my now realised, ill-thought out method of retribution. She continued heedlessly, "And here I thought you wrote me a love poem. How disappointing."

Alex's eyes narrowed dangerously, piercing me through and through with their gaze. I realise I have never been this close in proximity to her, and it strikes me she's actually not bad looking, maybe even easy on the eye. _But_ that's besides the point, because right now I needed to stand my ground and act all indignant. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? I could have been seriously injured… _this_ is a public hazard! You can't just leave this stuff lying around!"

In her typical I don't give a fuck fashion she responds with something that just serves to wound me up, "Death by leftover pizza and empty beer cans. What a way to go though, don't you think?"

She cuts me off just as I start flinging an angry retort. " _But_ that's a very thoughtful letter and I'll be sure to take more careful notice of my trash disposal habits next time."

"Good!' God I sounded like a fucking petulant child, add to that, her unfailing smirk was doing its usual job of heating up my temper. She roves me up and down, and it feels like she's disrobing me layer by layer with her eyes. I wasn't wearing anything that substantial to start off with and it suddenly reminds me of my low cut top. Ergh, I felt so exposed. "Rough night?" She cuts through my thoughts.

My hair must look like someone had swung me full into a tumble dryer and had forgotten to switch it off and my face felt like it was melting into an unrecognisable mess of congealed make up and sweat. _Rough_ didn't do my current appearance the slightest bit of justice.

"That's none of your business."

"Well it looks like at least one of us has had a good night."

"What?"

She crosses her arms across her chest, the movement causing me to focus on the artistic flower tattooed across her triceps, the petals swaying under her flexing muscles. I was so transfixed on this, I nearly miss the haughty grin she throws me. _Ergh._ I want to vomit and blush in dual measures.

"I mean…I just watched the season finale of _House of Cards_ and it turns out Frank Underwood is exactly the conniving asshole I thought he was all along."

I have no idea what's she talking about but I figured it was better than her usual repertoire of humiliating me so I didn't really mind.

"That's too bad."

"Thanks for understanding."

"Hang on." I shake my head. "Why are you even awake at this time?"

"Six cups of coffee with a splash of whiskey in each, and about a dozen episode cliffhangers."

"I suppose having to get up early tomorrow doesn't motivate you to sleep?"

Alex's lips quivered into a smile, "And what would you know about my daily work routine, huh?" She suddenly leans toward me, making a show of looking past my shoulders and inspecting the hallway behind me. " _Unless_ you're spying on me and tonight happens to be the night I caught you in the midst of your little reconnaissance?"

"Maybe it's _you_ that's spying on me."

None of what I just said made any sense. I really needed to work on my comebacks.

Alex seems to agree because she throws her head back and laughs, she tilts forwards again, and I briefly catch her scent; a mix of coffee and cigarettes. Maybe it's because I'm completely drunk or maybe it's the fact that Alex was wearing a way way too tight tank top that I'm pretty sure I have never seen before, and I'm also highly certain she's braless, but my eyes keep finding themselves looking a little too southwards one too many times.

"I'm spying on _you?_ Because nothing screams creepy when someone leaves strange letters in the dead of the night and then accuses said personof spying."

I collect the remnants of dignity scattered around me and adopt my most offended voice. "I'm not _creepy."_ (Like I said - I was in dire need of practicing my comebacks)

"I'm trying to decide whether I should be worried or flattered to have my own personal stalker."

"I'm not a stalker and I'm definitely not some weird creep!" And off I went, climbing aboard the Piper-temper train, next stop: _you'll wish you'd never messed with me._ "I fell over your _fucking_ trash - that you always leave for weeks and weeks - and I thought, before some other poor person suffers the same, I'd ask you kindly to move it! Be it verbally or in the fucking written form!"

Alex arches her eyebrows, patiently waiting for me to finish my less than uncouth outburst. She had that effect on me. Always unhinging me with her unbothered responses. I've scarcely drawn in a breath before she steps back and fully opens the door. "When you're done...I'm about to start season three, I've got a bottle of whiskey I need to finish and it looks like you might need some. What do you say?"

Incredulous, I furrow my brows, "Let's say in a hypothetical scenario I said yes. What makes you think I'm going to step into _your_ apartment, forego any sleep and watch a show I've never heard of in the middle of the night... least of all with _you?"_

 _"_ I'll have to take that as a no then."

We stand there - just staring at each other. Well it was me that was dumbly staring, Alex was mostly just laughing at my expense. What at, I'm not entirely sure. Like I said - she likes to fuck around with me, and I'm stupid enough to grab the bait _every_ time; hook, line and sinker. You'd have thought after such fruitful experiences I would have learned my lesson by now.

"Well I could stand here all night but I've got a cliffhanger to see through and a few glasses of whiskey to down."

Alex's already beginning to close the door when I suddenly blurt out, "I'm locked out of my apartment."

I don't exactly know what possessed me to reveal that predicament but I pretend to not hone in on the fact that somewhere beneath all those disparaging remarks, I actually think she's nice. And I hastily quash down the last traces of disappointment I felt when I realised I may not see her again for what would probably be at least a couple of weeks.

"Well that's unfortunate."

My face is burning but I force my eyes to maintain eye contact. Thankfully she saves me any further embarrassment when she strides past me. "Do you have your keys?" Her hands are already outstretched, waiting. I place them in her palms before adding, "They're not working though. I don't know why and believe me I've tried about a thousand times."

She inspects the keys, and without any preamble, selects one and pushes it into my door. To my utmost surprise it swings open with ease.

"How?!" I retort dumbly.

"It helps a great deal when you don't use your car-keys to open the door As far as I know Ford haven't yet manufactured keys for apartment doors."

She probably thinks I'm hardly a cut above a female version of Mr Bean, and these kind of things were not helping my cause in any shape or form.

"Give me that!"

Alex just chuckles and damn her to hell and beyond for making it sound like some seductive throaty laugh. I suspect she's doing it on purpose, like she always does.

"Well aren't you going to invite me in as a token of thanks?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

She goes in anyway.

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"Quite a cosy thing you've got going on here." Alex comments when she steps into my lounge.

"You do know you're trespassing?" I shout after her in vain.

I know, I know. I sound ungrateful, but I feel like I may succumb to my drunken tendency of becoming touchy-feely - _especially_ when Alex is wearing not only a ridiculously tight tank-top but also those grey college sweatpants that are super comfortable to wear and are supposed to be everything but enticing-looking, but damn her - it did the exact opposite. Alex looked like she'd stepped straight out of an indie-alternative cover, whereas I looked like a homeless cat left to forage in the cold rain. Life was just unfair.

I could see a saltshaker tattoo peeking between her top straps, making me wonder whether she had anymore tattoos hidden from away from sight.

(As you can see, I ask myself all of life's very important questions.)

"You like the view?"

My eyes guilty shoot up from their fix on her ass and it feels as though my heart just fast-forwarded itself several beats. A rising blush sweeps across my face and I'm already stammering for an explanation. Luckily, she's pointing at my windows. Relieved, I realised she's referring to the view of the city; all high rises and flashing lights. "Uh yeah."

"What did you think I meant?" Alex asks cockily, a salacious grin tugging at her cheeks.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I've got more that are not for public consumption. I'll show you them to you if you show me yours." She proceeds to throw me a wink just as I suddenly wished for my apartment floor to collapse from underneath me and deliver me to the next level down.

Alex does this a lot. Well _we_ do this a lot. Ever since she moved in a few doors down from me, we've been participating in a strange, yet mutual accepted dance of flirtation and general dislike for each other. It was a double edged sword that to my utter denial was somehow quite deliciously dangerous. But was I going to admit to that much less show her? No _fucking_ way. She had enough of an upper hand as it was already.

Alex picks off a book from my shelf and saunters to the kitchen island, pulling a chair out and straddling it. " _The Perfect Anarchist._ " She reads the book title out loud as she eyes me through the top of her glasses, raising her eyebrow in a gesture full of amusement. I watch her flick to a random page, listening to her read from a passage, " _A consistent anarchist must oppose all means of authority. An authoritarian system has been proven to be detrimental to creative thinking and to the pursuit of knowledge."_

I'm not going to deny I was secretly enjoying the effect her gravelly, dulcet tones were having on me, her reading voice had a certain pleasing timbre to it, so much so, I was actually dismayed when she suddenly stopped.

"Is this the kind of of stuff you read?"

Somehow Alex made always made everything I said or did or even had, sound like an insult so I find myself actually trying to contest the book was even mine. "It's my friend's actually…she likes to dabble in the political genre every now and again."

"And she also happens to be called Piper Chapman?" Alex points to my name written in the inside cover before gracing me with one of her know-it-all laughs. "Because that seems like an awfully slim coincidence to me."

I lunge forward and snatch the book out of her hands, too drunk to figure out a reasonable explanation and too embarrassed to expand on my obvious flimsy lie.

"Are you trying to subliminally tell me you're a reckless girl who loves to break the rules?" She punctuates this with a wily grin. "Because wouldn't you have it - I like women with those exact qualities."

I blink. I blink again. And blink a third time for good measure.

It's nearly four in the morning and I'm flirting with my hatefully annoying next door neighbour who has trash disposal issues, and I can't figure out whether I like her or not.

It's a dichotomy, I've learned to live with.

...

Through the course of the night I'm swaying toward _probably_ liking Alex; she did have a mean sense of humour, that's if I pretended I wasn't the butt of her many jokes. Add to that, I'm not going to lie she was surprisingly good at the whole charm thing. So much so, I actually didn't even mind it when at some point during the night she turned the flirt dial to maximum, the number of innocuous touches increased by about a thousand fold, and the distance from my mouth to her mouth shrank to about a couple of inches.

"So is this what you normally do?"

We're sat at the kitchen island, the dim lighting bathing our faces in a warm orange hue. Alex looks good. More than good.

I shake my head and force myself to return to reality.

"Hmmm?"

"You know gatecrash people's houses and make fun of their tastes in literature?"

"Oh yes. It's what I do most nights." She flicks her gaze at me, chuckling softly, "How's it been so far?"

"Eye-opening."

"That's better than I thought. I'm glad to have widened your horizons."

"You know, that's probably the first nicest thing I've ever heard you say."

Alex takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes, "If you must know, I don't normally offer my assistance to women locked out of their doors, so that was me being non-verbally nice."

"And what makes me the special lady you reserved all that niceness for?"

"Ah...don't get ahead of yourself. I just wanted to see what the inside of your apartment looked like. It was all part of my big elaborate plan, trash pile included."

"Very funny."

"And it's every bit as I imagined it to be."

"You spend your time imagining what my apartment looks like?"

"Oh yes." She says unperturbed at this revelation. "I thought to myself is her apartment a reflection of who she is? Uptight and self-righteous. And dare I say it - it actually is."

I roll my eyes, "Wow, just when I thought you were actually capable of being nice."

"Well I can be when it suits me." She drops her voice to barely a whisper, "You know the other kind of _nice."_

I swear I needed a seatbelt whenever I'm around Alex. One minute we're flirting then we're calling each other out, and then back to flirting - I feel like I'm in a car taking about a thousand different turns at breakneck speed.

"The other kind of nice?"

As you can see - I've decided to play along. I'm drunk, remember?

"Oh yes." She tilts her head forward, her hand reaching out to me.

Suddenly I'm having some very colourful visions of mouths crashing and hands exploring and that's when I realise I need to get the fuck back. This is how bad and stupid and thoughtless things happened. And I'm none of those things.

"Not happening." I blurt out.

"What?"

 _"This."_

"This? You've lost me there."

"Whatever you were planning on doing, Alex."

Alex looks at me in confusion, making me think that I may have spectacularly misread all those cues, confirmed when she asks, "I can't even pour myself a drink? That's what I was doing by the way, reaching for a glass and a drink." She tilts her head, and I watch her slowly figure out my mistake. "Piper, what did you think I was doing?"

 _Everything_

I squirm in my seat, "Nothing."

She just chuckles.

We sit in silence for a while when Alex just stares at me, narrowing her eyes - as though I've completely lost it. The woman sure had phenomenal eyes. She also had a phenomenal ego to go along with them. "So about that drink?"

I realise I'm supposed to play hostess, and go on to pour us both a drink. I mean she did save me a night of sleeping rough on the floor - it's the very least I can do.

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 _AN: Probs a two or three shot. Lemme know your thoughts!_


	2. The morning after the night before

**2.** The morning after the night before

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 _AN: omg you guys! Bottom of my heart thanks for all the reviews, favourites and follows. I'm genuinely awestruck with the overwhelming response! I started writing and couldn't stop. How unfortunate ;) Anyway, enough of me and more of our favourite two below. Without further ado._

 _(Perspective is Piper's)_

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My eyes flicker open. It feels as though someone was holding the world's most powerful floodlight right against my face, burning my retinas with it. My head protests against this powerful weapon of light, making it throb with the intensity of an industrial power-drill. I roll over and groan in what must be the most self pitying sound ever. I mutely gather this is how it must feel like when brains are ripped out and are replaced with a block of cement reinforced with shards of glass for good measure. It genuinely couldn't get any worse than this. Unbeknownst to me though, there was always scope for things to turn from shit to even more shit. My life in a nutshell.

Finally, after a languid struggle in rejoining the ranks of humanity - I manage to squint my eyes open, allowing me to fully survey my surroundings.

I'm in my bed.

Still wearing last nights clothes and way too worse for wear. I mutter to myself, having my usual mantra of this is going to be the last ever time I let myself become so utterly bladdered. It was all fun and games until the morning. My hangovers liked to always remind me of my stupidity from the night before, and so every morning I was made to suffer through the equivalent of being run over by a tank several times.

I roll over, nearly knocking off the glass of water and packet of aspirins resting on the night table. Frowning in confusion I sit up. I didn't put that glass there nor do I leave accompanying pieces of paper addressed to myself. Reading the note; I would also never write in neat block letters:

 _I figured you'd need the aspirin in the morning. Also I left your keys in the kitchen._

 _Alex._

"FUCK!"

My hangover was banished in a matter of seconds. "Shit. Fuck. Shit."

The events of last night rush in with the force of a tsunami and I feel like I'm drowning in waves of possibility. The first and foremost thought that springs to mind is _did I sleep with her?_ I rack my brains, grabbing my head with both hands, trying to grasp onto any memory of whatever the fuck happened after I poured our drinks, but all that was given to me was a black hole of amnesia. I jump out of bed and begin pacing the room, trying to find any clues that would point toward last night's happenings.

Duvet covers are hastily upturned. Pillows are snatched up. Mattresses are flung off. I momentarily halt my throes of madness and even inspect my neck for any telltale signs of hickies. Nothing.

My throat feels like sandpaper and my stomach feels as though a million bees are simultaneously needling it. I feel like wailing.

I'm not that kind of girl.

No really.

I'm a nice Park Slope woman who works as a server at a high end restaurant, pays her taxes on times, and _blushes_ at the sight of people publicly making out. I _don't_ do casual trysts, not the least with people I'm barely on talking terms with. But here I am, crawling on all fours, on the verge of meeting last night's food again, and searching for stray panties under my bed, like some kind of piteous sex detective. I've yet to reach my lows into decadence - but that soon comes when I lift my dress and see that to my thorough relief I'm still wearing my own panties. I cringe and curse myself in equal measures.

My relief is short-lived when I happen to glance at the clock.

Holy shit, I'm late for work.

My one night stand investigations would have to wait.

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"How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Chapman."

I swallow a lump of something resembling fear when I feel the light whisper of Red's voice drifting into my ear.

Red otherwise known as 'Boss' was the owner of Haven. The third largest restaurant in New York in terms of revenue and customer numbers. She had built it up from when it had been just a small bistro, into one of the most respectable eateries in the region. Red the matriarch of Eastern New York held strong principles regarding her flourishing business, where people flocked from afar to experience the legendary triad of the chicken in duck in turkey recipe.

All of that commendable success had been achieved by running her ship with an iron fist. Red never raised her voice at her employees nor did she explicitly tell you that you've done wrong. Instead she just soundlessly came up behind you and whispered her disapprovals in slow menacing hisses. It was enough to make anyone regret the error of their ways. I'd figured it must be some unnerving interview technique she had learned during her formative years as a KGB agent. At least that's what I theorised.

I've been working at Haven for the last three years, having gone through the ranks of starting as a lowly waitress to being in charge of my own small group of workers. Red had even hinted she may offer me a partnership in the near future should my performance continue to improve.

However, I may have to put that aspiring dream on hold and deal with the earful I was no doubt about to receive.

"Jesus you stink like a brewery and look like you've spent the night in one too."

I was drunk and stupid and spent the night with my neighbour from hell. I swallow those words down and push out the more appropriate ones, "I'm so sorry, Boss. I must have lost track of all time."

"You're over an hour late…why did you even bother showing up at all?"

"I'm sorry." I knew better than to argue. To be honest, I had no leverage of any sort so best to take it all on the chin and hold a tight lip. Speaking of lips... Fuck no. Get back in! You fucking random and out of context memory of Alex and her lips that were doing more than just moving and talking.

"Don't think that because you're suffering from a hangover, that I'm going to cut you any slack. You're going to work as hard as the rest of us…maybe even harder."

I cringe inwardly. "Red, I'm sorry. This won't happen again." I stammer weakly, my whiny voice, annoying, even to my own ears.

She ignores me and instead barks, "Birthday group of seven at table ten." She flicks her chin in their general direction, "The mother is allergic to gluten and the son has a lactose intolerance." She walks off, before turning around, "Oh, and they want their cake with its thirty-six candles lit right after their main meals."

The triple whammy table: a large group, specific dietary preferences and a big _fucking_ birthday. It couldn't get any more shit than that. It was every waiter's nightmare table rolled into one. Even worse than that table with the snobby couple who returned everything on the basis the food was either too cold or too spicy or too anything. But, I daren't protest - I was already treading on thin ground. I wouldn't be overly surprised if Red had picked a bunch of people off the street and paid them to be as difficult as possible all to teach me a good lesson.

Serves me right for drinking on a weeknight and trying to kid myself I still had the same liquor tolerance I did when I was twenty - which hadn't been all that spectacular to begin with. I've always been cursed with being a lightweight.

All I wanted to do right now was cry. "No problem, Boss. I'll be right onto it."

"I'm watching you, Chapman." She grumbled just as she turned her heel and whizzed off.

I quickly steal a glance at my assigned table and had to actually hold in a physical groan. They reminded me of my own dysfunctional family. I can practically smell the nouveau-riche vibes reeking from them; the dad in a Ralph Lauren shirt already looking disgruntled because they hadn't yet been served between that millisecond of them arriving and sitting down while the mother was busy rolling her eyes at the menu. And don't even get me started on the kids. That's the problem with this place - it attracted my kind of people: WASPy and rich and entitled. _Fuck_ my hangover headache just took a steep turn for the worse.

...

I've been running around like a headless chicken for the past few hours. Why the fuck was it so busy at ten in the morning? I swear it was the universe trying to tell me something. At around twelve I finally find some short-lived reprieve and take the opportunity to down another few aspirins. I'm sipping a cup of coffee when someone roughly slaps their hand against my back.

"You look fucking shit, Chapman."

Half of my coffee was now on the ground together with any politeness I had left. The rest of it had been spent on the family from hell at table ten.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nicky." I huff, not in the mood to engage in any small talk.

Great I'm on shift with Nicky Nichols, a girl who doesn't mince her words and always spoke with the subtlety of a bull raging through a china shop. I busy myself with pinning my orders on the wall, ticking off the tables as the food was brought out one by one on the trays.

"Late night?"

"Something like that." I'm purposefully laconic, hoping she'll take the hint and leave me alone.

"And?"

"And what?" I give a jaded sigh just as I set aside a pile of dirty dishes.

"Did you score then?"

"Score what?"

Nicky raises her eyebrows like I'm totally dense, and just keeps nodding her head willing me to catch on. I know exactly what she's talking about but I'm in no mood to discuss my dubious sexual relations with anyone, least of all with Nicky. She was world's worst holders of secrets, more leaky than a sieve. I might as well declare my dirty laundry through a public tannoy, it would lead to similar results.

I wipe my hands off on my apron and turn around. "The only 'scoring' I know about are goals in soccer or aces in a tennis game or getting As in my then college assignments, otherwise I have no idea what you're talking about."

Nicky just huffed, "Don't be so fucking obtuse, Chapman. I just want to congratulate you on letting go of that Piper uptightness and finally enjoying one of life's greatest pleasures. So? Am I right or am I right?"

In all honesty, I couldn't even answer the question even if I could. A renewed wave of despair hits me when I'm reminded of Alex and the enigma that was last night. Nicky mistakes my silence for an admission and exclaims in pure delight, "Really? Fucking ace man!" She squeezes my shoulder in a show of commendation, "And here I was worried you're some asexual flower that would never reach its full bloom. Fuck, I'm so relieved for you." She pats me on the back just as I shudder in disgust at the analogy. My love for flora died right there.

"Leave her alone, Nicks." Just then Taystee sidles up to me and slings her arms over my shoulders. Great, I had a fucking audience now. Did I mention my work colleagues were very tactile and hadn't yet heard of such a thing as respecting personal boundaries?

"Chapman here, she ain't some sex-crazed messiah like you, aight?" She turns to me, "You one of the rare kinds, getting all married and shit, living with yo cute ass husband and reading all educational books to him."

"Excuse me?" I extricate myself from her embrace.

Did I come across as that fucking boring that they envisaged this life for me? Reading books to my future husband because he was blind and couldn't read for himself or because he was super old. Or was he both?

"Yo Pipes, is it true you finally got yourself some action?" Poussey shouts from the back of the kitchen.

I come to the very slow conclusion that my fellow workers had been waiting with bated breaths for me to get finally get laid. Something I must say, is quite disturbing.

"Hey P! Chapman ain't even like that." Taystee retorts on my behalf.

I don't know whether to be offended by the fact I came across as someone who leads a pious and mostly celibate life or be disgusted by such casual references to my patchy sex life.

I decide to be both.

"Can everyone stop talking about my sex life like I'm not even here! What is wrong with you people?"

"Hey don't be like that, man." Nicky says unperturbed. "We're just trying to help you."

"Help me?" I laugh humorlessly, "How about you help me by not reducing my whole existence on my sexual encounters? How about that?" This line of conversation needed to end right now.

"Chill out, Pipes."

"You started all this, Nichols." I point around, "Look at what you've caused."

"I was doing what any decent person would do." She shrugs her shoulders, "Which is to congratulate when one of my girls has been there and done that."

I'm not even going give her the decency to respond to that. "Also don't you have some onions to tend to?"

" _Very_ subtle change in topic."

"No, really." I point at the neighbouring saucepan emitting a somewhat worrisome blackish smoke from its contents." Unless your table specifically requested the charcoal onion edition?"

"Fuck! Shit!"

Every cloud…

….

The metal doors suddenly swing open and in steps Red. My stomach drops when we all notice the fuming expression distorting her usual stern look together with the narrowing of eyes. For reference, that usually meant we were about to be annihilated.

"Are you people done with your gossiping tea party?" She roams her fearful gaze over all of us. "When you think you're all done can you all kindly carry on with the jobs I'm paying you all to do?"

Nobody answers. Red's questions are generally rhetorical and you'd be stupid enough if you tried to answer them. She carries on, "There are at least seven orders coming through at this very minute. Table five has already returned her steak because it wasn't well done and the couple at nine have just told me they've been waiting for more than half hour for their meal to arrive. My cows in my old Moscow farm can do a better job than all you people combined."

We stand in line like scolded schoolgirls, none of us daring to speak.

"If I hear one more complaint from our guests I will personally see to you all being punished severely."

She murmurs something in a flurry of Russian which I'm pretty sure wasn't anything of praise.

I think it was the heavily Russian intonation but I'm suddenly reminded of my History classes on the Soviet Union, particularly the bit about those dreadful gulags. Because right now it felt like I was in one and I daren't ask what exactly this 'severe punishment' entailed.

Red hadn't always been so harsh and dictatorial. But this last year or so was like she'd been strung to near impossible lengths. Haven was doing well. But not nearly as good as our nearest competitors. We've all overheard the talks of possible expansion or maybe even opening up another chain but when there was always a few empty tables even at the height of rush hour such plans had to be put on hold. There's only so many customers word of mouth can reach and that's where our problem lay.

"Well get those feet moving!"

We didn't have to be told twice. We all spring into action but just as the others scurry away, she stops me. " Piper Chapman, you're the best we've got here so don't let me down… you of all people."

"Yes, Boss." She knows how to tap into my guilty conscience. "You can count on me."

No sooner had I said that and she had already disappeared.

By noon the place was absolutely teeming; orders were flying in by the dozen, patrons were reeling off their choices. It was that busy I kept bumping into the others running with trays and carrying hastily scribbled orders. The astronomical sound levels which I could normally drown out were doing no favours for my migraine-esque headache, and actually by about two in the afternoon I genuinely had to sit down to catch myself a breather before having to serve the next table.

My headache reminded me of aspirins which somehow reminded me of Alex. I shut my eyes and berate myself once again for my acts of great stupidity. Obviously my amnesia didn't extend to erasing all traces of that kitchen situation; my fixation on her lips, hanging onto her every word like some desperate lovestruck teen. For the record I was neither a teen nor _lovestruck._ I scoffed before stomping to the next table, still angry with myself.

I approach my designated table and reel off my automatic spiel, "Welcome to Haven. How I may I take your or-"

I'm cut off by a horrifically familiar voice. "You know you don't look half bad in that tight waistcoat number you're wearing. That colour really brings out your eyes."

I look up in horror, nearly dropping my notepad.

My lonesome patron sat at table number three, sporting what I have now come to realise is the most infuriating smile known to man, was none other than my maybe-or-maybe-not one night stand, Alex Vause.

.

.

.

* * *

 _AN: Ooh la la_


	3. A is for Asshole

3\. A is for Asshole

* * *

 _AN: You want some? Yeah? Well here ya go._

.

.

 _._

 _My lonesome patron sat at table number three, sporting what I have now come to realise was the most infuriating smile known to man, is none other than my maybe-or-maybe-not one night stand, Alex Vause._

It takes a second or two to let all that sink in, even though she's right in front of me, larger than life. Then I feel myself losing the ability to speak and it's any wonder I'm still standing upright, because my legs seemed to have adopted a life of their own, shaking and stiffening up at the same time. In an act of desperation I feign complete and utter ignorance which is probably the most idiotic thing I could do given the circumstances. It wasn't like I could avoid her forever. She's my neighbour and a big fucking question mark: one time lover.

"What? Not even a hi?"

"Have you made your order yet?" I yelp, clutching onto my notepad for dear life. God help me. This was hell now and here, Alex was the one wielding the pitchfork. Okay, slight exaggeration, but I am functioning in sheer survival mode here. So cut me some slack.

"Yes, I'd like to order a large plate of acknowledgement with a side dish of manners."

"Manners?" I blurt out stupidly. "You have the nerve to lecture _me_ on manners when you near enough forced your way into my home and repeatedly ignored my pleads for you to leave."

"That's funny. Because I seem to remember an alternative version where you begged me for my assistance, made me drinks _voluntarily_ and…" She waggles her eyebrows and smirks, "Well the rest is history."

Thank the lord for Red's insistence over barely lighting up the place in order to create an intimate ambience because I can feel my whole face literally burning up, my genetically inclined cheeks no doubt lit up like two red traffic lights. I quickly glance around me before lowering my voice, "What happened last night?"

Alex leans forward, casually leaning her elbows on the table and gazing at me with the sort of expression people used when they'd spent the night together. I find myself taking an involuntary step backwards, worried she was going to trap me with her sultry eyes and lure me in.

"You honestly don't remember?"

"I remember you coming over and we were talking…"

"And after that?"

"You laughed at my taste literature, questioned my ability to play poker and we drank some more."

"And then?"

"We talked a while."

"Is that all you really remember?"

After the kitchen conversation I always drew a blank. I shake my head not able to keep eye contact and instead suddenly take an intense interest on the painting hanging on the wall behind Alex.

My brain was working overdrive right now and I had to distract away from the many possible scenarios I've constructed in my head.

I peer at the painting, it was either from the Renaissance era or it was Pre-Raphaelite, I wasn't sure.

Alex tilts her head and follows my gaze before turning back to me, smiling. "It's Neo-Impressionist. See the use of colour and the direction of paint strokes, how organised and refined they are? Definitely a piece by Georges Seurat."

I must look like a fish removed from its place of refuge because her cocky expression segues into one of concern, "Are you okay?"

"Uh yeah. I'm fine."

"I didn't know talking about art could you make you feel so ill, my bad. I'll try and avoid that topic next time I come round yours."

"Fuck you." I hiss semi-loudly. A poor choice of words I realise belatedly but solider on regardless. "Whatever happened last night was a huge mistake so don't think anything of the sort is ever going to happen again."

With all the practiced patience in the world Alex simply says, "Didn't seem like a mistake to me..in fact I would go as far as to say you were fucking loving it."

My stomach lurches uncomfortably. So it had happened. We did the thing. My worst fear confirmed and made worse by the fact I couldn't remember a single thing - not even my muscle memory was offering up anything.

"I shouldn't have…shit" I whisper to myself, before turning to her, eyes blazing. "You could have stopped me."

"Are you actually kidding me?"

"I was drunk." I offer pathetically. "I was drunk and you should have stopped me. Whatever I was doing.'

"We're adults, Pipe."

Fuck. She's graduated to calling me _Pipe?_ That means we really must have done it.

"I can't believe this…" I slowly back away. "You took advantage of me." I couldn't believe I was piling all the blame on Alex even with my less than stellar record of playing victim, I knew that it does take two to tango. Fuck it. I wasn't here to assuage my recent decline in morals and if anything, I felt like I deserved at least some bit of sympathy.

"Are you being serious? After I personally tended to your drunken ass and helped you? This is the bullshit you come out with?"

I pause my cries of self-pity. "What do you mean by that?"

 _What the fuck happened that night?_

Alex looks at me like I've sprouted an additional head and it's all I can do not to visibly cringe. She'd obviously meant it as a figure of speech but right now I was an emotional paranoid wreck on the brink of having my trademarked Piper Chapman breakdown.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Why did she do that? Play with my feelings like that? it was so difficult to hate Alex when her voice dropped to that gentle cadence, and her face softened around the edges like that, somehow making her appear more pleasing to the eye.

I hold onto my notepad with renewed determination and straighten out.

She probably does that with all her other unsuspecting victims; a lull of the brow, a subtle curl of the lips and she had them, right there in the centre of her web. I painfully realise I'd been reduced to just another meaningless sexscapade. And that upsets me. Greatly.

"Are you actually going to order anything?" I ask frustratedly, my feet itching to get me out of this senseless situation.

I would even let myself suffer through any of Red's semi-racist anti-American stuff stuff she spouted whenever Nicky or I complained over the ridiculous workload we were regularly subjected to. Apparently I was a lazy valley girl too used to having everything done at my beck and call. Red was partially correct; I was actually an upper east side girl…the rest was pretty reflective.

I return to reality, "Anything at all?"

I can't bear to continue looking at Alex. What with her piercing green eyes, her perfect red lips, and the way her hair framed her face like that. It was downright offensive.

"Yes, I'll have the gnocchi with a glass of white, thanks."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah."

Some civility at last, relieved, I begin tucking my notepad away when Alex adds, "Just one more thing, I didn't sleep with you." She says it so matter of fact I've already taken a few steps before the sentence catches up with me and makes me stop dead in my tracks. I swear my heart must have paused to allow me to properly hear this damning verdict. "What?"

"We didn't have sex." She shrugs as though this was just another everyday conversation. "I mean we talked a lot and laughed and joked…but that was all that happened. I guided you to your bed and tucked you in and left. That's it."

Was that a flicker of longing creeping into her voice? And hold the _fucking_ carriage and all its horses - she tucked me in? I couldn't for the life of me imagine _the_ Alex Vause lowering herself to such basic acts of humanity. I revised the low regard I had for her to something slightly above tolerable.

"And for the record." Alex continued. "I don't take advantage of people when they're intoxicated. And trust me you were way beyond that. So whatever you think of me…I do still have certain moral standards."

Okay so she wasn't a complete asshole. But that meant _I_ was the fucking asshole.

To be quite honest, I should have known better. Deep down I highly suspected any sex with her would not be something I would forget in a hurry, drunk or otherwise.

I'm not sure what level of formality I should pitch my response at so I settle for quite formal. I'm pretty sure I watched a _Dr Phil_ episode where he advised on maintaining formality in order to distance yourself emotionally. "Thank you for clarifying the details of that evening…would you also like to order dessert?"

Alex just scoffs, "Really, that's your grand response?"

Definitely not a dessert name that was on our menu. I reel on, worried that if I stopped talking, we would venture into conversations I didn't want to have, and that would mean she would eventually make me say yes to things I wanted, but also didn't want.

That was just plain ridiculous; I'm an adult in charge of my own destiny, with my own rational mind to make my own sound decisions.

So I continued guilelessly, 'We have ice-cream, cheesecake, chocolate gateau, creme brûlée, apple-"

"Piper, you can stop there now."

"Apple pie, key-lime pie, peach pie, sweet potato pie, organic pear-"

Apparently she had an intense dislike for pie because Alex suddenly grabs me by the arm and pulls me down to her sitting position. Her face so close to mine, I calculated that if I puckered my lips they'd touch hers.

That was the exact moment, everyone, I had come to the obvious conclusion, that I was well and truly royally fucked.

Here I was bent at the waist, trapped in nothing more than her deep green gaze, while I obediently awaited whatever she wanted to let me know in her usual hedonistic fashion.

Who was I kidding with my bullshit about free will? This was _Alex Vause_ we're talking about.

.

.

.

"We both know what _could_ have happened."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I should really stop using ignorance as an emotional defence. Blame my largely repressed and frankly dysfunctional childhood for that.

"I know you want me." Alex declares in a low voice that I felt more than heard.

"No I don't."

 _I do? Maybe?_

No.

My heart does its usual free fall through my body when Alex pulls me even closer, any closer I'd end up on her lap. Which come to think of it, may not be such a bad thing. She continues in that I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself voice, "I know for sure I want _you._ I'll do the whole date thing if that's what you want. Hell I'll even buy you pink flowers and heart-shaped chocolates, but one thing's for sure, I can't keep my eyes off you."

I gulp.

Maybe I could rescind my previous statement of not wanting her. After all nothing in life is ever set in stone. Alex obviously sees my hesitation and continues, ramping up the persuasive factor. "I don't normally do this you know."

To my absolute misery, I spot Taystee squinting her eyes at me, followed by Poussey furrowing her brows. To be honest, I could only imagine how things must look from their angle: me practically sat on Alex's lap while she tried to convince me to give in to something I already wanted. It was unorthodox to say the least. News spread like wildfire here so I did what I had to.

"Like _fucking_ what?" I jerk back, maybe a little too dramatically to feign authenticity. But Poussey and Taystee were still staring. Where the fuck is Red when you actually needed her? "Make people think they've slept with you? Come to their place of work on an entirely non-coincidental basis and ask them out while they take your orders? How _fucking_ reassuring you don't make a habit of this."

"You know that's an awful lot of fucks for someone who doesn't want to be f-"

"DON'T even go there."

She sighs like I'm the one who's inappropriate and simply leans back.

She honestly was a force to be reckoned with.

Alex throws me one of her shameless smiles "If you really have to know. My usual plan of action is harassing my neighbours by placing obnoxiously large amounts of trash outside the door in the hope that they trip over them which is when I myself into their homes. It's a tried and tested technique."

I deliberately purse my lips into a passive-aggressive and a not-even-impressed scowl.

"What? Not even a smile?"

"Do you want a medal or something?" I snap.

Alex made a mock-hurt face. "Oof, didn't realise the crowd was so tough."

Suddenly her arrogant smirk coupled with that insufferable twinkle in her eyes made me lose my fuse (again) "You think you're something else, don't you? Funny thing is you're the one who's gone out of their way to reserving a table, just so you could gloat about our near-miss." I point my finger at her. "I'm not some notch on the bedpost for you."

There was a delicious moment her face waged blank with confusion. I suddenly wished I had those instant-photo cameras to snap this elusive expression and flash it in her face whenever she got too big for her boots.

"If I wanted to see you again, I can just knock on your door. I just happen to like the gnocchi here. Nothing to do with you."

"Really?"

" _Really_." She pushes her glasses back into her hair. "Now that we've established this, what do you say to my earlier proposition?"

Either Alex was exceedingly stupid or I grossly underestimated the exceptional levels of cockiness she actually possessed. If I had to hedge my bets it would be the latter.

"Wow." Is all I can genuinely manage.

"No gimmicks. No fakery. No snark. So?"

Alex's eyes grew serious and she seemed to hover over the question waiting, but me on the other hand, take great satisfaction in the delivery of my line here. "No... thanks."

If I was expecting a massive reaction from Alex, it wouldn't have come anyway because she simply raises her eyebrows as though this was only round one and she would have plenty more opportunities to try again.

She'd probably succeed.

I didn't have that much faith in my resolve to keep on saying no.

So really it was a matter of a _when_ than an _if._

I was strangely okay with that.

I step back, hurriedly write down the last of her order, and retreat back into the safety of the kitchen. At least here there was a big giant metal door dividing me from Alex's roguish smile.

Who did she think I was? At what point on God's green earth have I ever appeared as _easy?_

She was damn persuasive though. I had _almost_ failed.

If I'm completely honest, there had been instances where I saw myself saying yes. Maybe just to dabble my toes in the waters so to speak but not actually fully jump in. Just a little test run.

But something tells me with Alex it's either you get yourself fully wet or you don't bother at all. There's no real go between.

(I promise that wasn't some weird euphemism.)

(A Freudian slip, maybe)

I leant against the metal basin waiting for my table number to be announced.

"That was the longest order you were taking there."

It had to be Nicky spotting that little domestic. The girl's powers of observation were being wasted in the food industry, and were much more suited to police work.

"It's a complex one. You know the ones with the dietary requirements and specific preparations." I say in a clipped voice.

I was in a foul mood that consisted of self-pity and bated anger at myself and I could easily extend my anger to the next person who thought of sticking their snout in. Sharing is caring, right?

"Gnocchi and white wine." She asks laughing just as she snatches my hastily scribbled order from the pin board. "Unless she ordered her food by giving it as a Chinese riddle? Or maybe a haiku in Hindi? I'm really good at haiku solving, you should have called me. I could have saved you the half hour of you taking orders."

"Just leave it okay?" I near enough rip the order from her hand, my misery increasing by the thousandfold, which had obviously nothing to do with me rejecting Alex's offer and _everything_ to do with Nicky's annoying presence.

"Woah Chapman. Easy. I don't suppose I should ask?"

"Sorry Nichols, I operate on a don't ask and don't tell policy."

No sooner had I spoken, Nicky blurts out, "Hot biker chick at three o'clock. Do you know her?"

I sigh wearily. There's no real point denying anything. I mean not when Alex keeps throwing me impromptu winks from across the room. Talk about goddamn subtlety. A word not present in Alex's dictionary. Politeness and keep the fuck out of other's people's business were the few words missing from Nicky's.

"Yeah I know her." I couldn't have sounded any more miserable even if I tried.

I could practically see the lightbulb moment in Nicky's eyes and is it of any surprise that my sole wish at the present time was to be buried?

I'm already bracing myself for the avalanche of questions about to erupt when I notice the door opening and closing in quick succession. I have never been so glad to see our gulag master, sorry, Red saunter into the kitchen. Well, saunter is the wrong word, more like appear out of thin air. She was doing her usual thing of narrowing her eyes into two slits of disapproval, and surveying the scene with slow, roaming stares. Luckily, Nicky valued her job prospects too much and immediately clamped her mouth shut and busied herself with placing her plates onto the waiting service trays.

"Table three and six!" Poussey shouts, just as she slams the food onto the plates with her usual enthusiastic vigour.

Marginally relieved, I pick up my orders, and walk through the double doors. It feels as though I'm re-entering an arena full of baying crowds. Even worse than that...back to Alex and her perpetual smirk. I can't quite figure out if this was the lesser of two evils but she's already smiling at me when she spots me reluctantly approaching.

I'm trying my utmost hardest in avoiding eye contact as I place the dishes in front of her which was no mean feat. My hands were shaking more than the alcoholic who needed his first morning drink, and I've now got the added anxiety-inducing pressure of making sure I don't spill anything on her.

White tops and spilt liquids don't bode well together. Things become awfully see through when that happened. Worse if the white-top wearing person wore a black bra underneath. (I noticed these things)

 _gulp_

Thankfully, Alex makes no mention of our earlier tete a tete and instead gives me a sated thank you.

If it's supposed to put me at ease, it does the exact opposite. I'm suddenly made to feel like I'm in the eye of a storm, calm and quiet on the inside, wild and dangerous if you stepped outside of it.

"Enjoy your meal." I mutter haphazardly.

"Thanks. I will." And she fucking winks at me.

Before I have a chance to change the response to my earlier answer, I scurry off to the next table. I swear I could feel her eyes burn two holes through my ill-fitted shirt and waistcoat, _but_ I daren't look back.

* * *

The remainder of my shift goes without hitchups and I find myself slowly relaxing and actually enjoying the customer interactions. I even managed to make Red laugh with an offhand remark I made. Red and laughter was as incompatible as fire and snow so when I later told the girls of my extraordinary accomplishment, they just laughed in my face; all incredulous jeers and shakes of the head. Poussey went on to do an uncanny imitation of Red, complete with slivers of carrot as a poor representation of her hair and surprisingly good Russian accent. "I am laughing. This is how I laugh: kha...kha...kha."

We're all howling with laughter when SoSo from the customer service desk sticks her head in. "Any louder guys, and the state of Massachusetts will also have to suffer through the world's worst impression."

She's met with a series of boo's and loud scoffs but as usual is unperturbed by our reactions and just flicks her nose at us. "Whatever, at least when she starts laying you all off, I'll have the great satisfaction of a giant _I-told-you-so."_

 _"_ Oh light up, Soso." Nicky snorts. "Try and remove that stick out of your ass once in awhile and start living a little."

I'm guffawing so hard I barely hear SoSo's magnificent comeback, "Thanks Nicky. I guess it's time for me to take it out and stick it in your mouth instead. That way it'll stop the stream of excrement from leaving."

"Excrement?" Nicky scoffs in complete exaggeration. "The last time I heard that word was when I watching a 1940s porn show."

I'm not even going to waste my breath in asking what kind of porn show featured shit in its spiel, unless she's referring to the infamous 2 girls 1 cup video. ( disclaimer: I would never lower myself to such gross standards, thank you very much)

"The lady from customer service just burned you, Nicks!" Taystee exclaims. "Damn you musta gotten some second degree burns and shit."

"No uh, make that third degree burns, Tay. I can hear the sizzling from here." Poussey adds.

"Thanks for all the support guys." Nicky retorts, her face not looking entirely pleased just as she directs at SoSo, "Haven't you got any complaints to be dealing with? This is our turf so unless you know how to toss a pizza or balance six plates on top of each other, you're not wanted here."

"You know what?" Brooke declares emphatically. "Benjamin Tryden once said ' _the kindest word in all the world is the unkind word, unsaid_.' So I'm afraid I'm going to have to discontinue our conversation now and we should both respectfully return to our positions of work."

I'm in awe she managed to say all of that garbage with an actual straight face.

There was a perfectly legitimate reason, Red did not place Brooke in a position where she was in direct contact with customers. A minute of listening to her was enough to cause even the most stoic and tolerant of people to run away with their ears bleeding. Sometimes, I thought the girl must have swallowed a radio that had been stuck on the non-stop talking channel.

I'm still waiting for the batteries to die.

.

.

.

Alex's hot breath sizzling against my neck was sending all my nerve endings into a fevered meltdown, and it was a surprise my body hadn't yet malfunctioned because that husky drawl in my ear, together with those hands tracing my abdomen in slow lazy circles, was doing things to my mind that pushed out all other essential brain functions, like speaking for instance "I'm here for you. And for you, only." She finished emphatically.

My eyes slam open. I bounce upwards and nearly karate chop myself in the face.

What! Why! When! How! Jesus H Christ on a tricycle.

I'm met by the embarrassing realisation I was lucid dreaming about the exact things I didn't want to lucid dream about. A nightmare was acceptable but this?

Shaking off a massive indignant shudder, I sit up, confusingly undecided over whether I should be horrified or grateful for my rather immersive imagination.

I glance at my watch and realise I'm going to be late for debrief so propel myself to my feet and duly pretend I'm a woman who doesn't have sex dreams about people she _kinda… sorta… maybe_ hates.

* * *

I make it by the skin of my teeth.

We're all gathered in the back office for our daily evening debrief.

My body is aching and I feel so mentally drained I couldn't really utter another word.

I drown out Red's voice and start having dreamy thoughts of my bed and my soft pillow and how great it would for my head to be resting against it right now.

Someone shakes my shoulder hard, and I'm harshly thrown out of my idle slumber. "Chapman, listen!" Nicky whispers in my ear, nodding toward Red who fixes me with her scrupulous stare.

"I _said_ who served the customer at table number three?"

My body freezes.

That was Alex's table.

Fuck

Fuck

 _Fuck_

I'm steeling myself for the torrent of verbal blows I'm probably about to receive. I'm determined not to flinch.

What the fuck had Alex said? My dreaded anticipation is quickly replaced with righteous anger, my hackles raised to the maximum levels. I knew she was an asshole but to actually try and sabotage my job? Just because I said NO. I mean I wasn't exactly the perfect waitress but I didn't fucking deserve this. I'm already thinking of confronting Alex, smashing down her stupid apartment door. I don't care how crazy I went as long as she got the message that she couldn't just fuck around me.

"Who served three? Because they sure as hell haven't served themselves."

I swallow back a ball of bile. I'm already fast approaching the end of Red's tether. Any more complaints and I can start bidding my goodbyes to everyone.

"It's Chapman's." Taystee shouts just as her face falls into one of regret. Ugh, Taystee's mouth was more unsecure than Facebook's privacy settings.

I shoot her dagger eyes, even though it would literally take all of one second for Red to find out who had my assigned table. Everyone is already sporting premature looks of sympathy which doesn't exactly help abate my increasingly racing heart. Any faster and I might have to ask it to join the horse races, such was the intense galloping right now.

Red _smiles._

What? Red _doesn't_ smile. Her laughing muscles had been non-existent since birth.

"Well well well. You must have done something right...because whoever you served has just left you a $250 tip."

"WHAT?" I exclaim, hardly audible above the sharp intakes of breathing sounding around me.

Of all the things I was expecting - this was not it.

"Boss, are you sure?" Poussey asks, her face filled with awe.

Taystee sidles forward, "You sure you don't mean two dollar and fifty cents? Easy mistake to make."

"Are you saying I'm blind, Tasha?" That soon shuts her up.

Nicky whispers in my ear. "You must have given her the five star treatment."

Red curls her lips into an actual smile. Teeth and all. "I've been thinking that my proposed partnership with you was a grave mistake, but you seemed to have redeemed yourself, Chapman. Consider yourself saved."

I'm still processing the last few minutes, still in disbelief, but I manage to nod my head vigorously and murmur my thanks. "Thanks Red."

"Oh and they left you this."

She pushes a piece of paper into my hand with that familiar block handwriting. But this time a cellphone number was scribbled in - together with:

 ** _Call me when you've changed your mind._**

 ** _A_**

A matter of when rather than if.

Good god.

I feel my actual shit-eating grin beginning to hurt my cheeks. Vaguely aware that I'm at dire danger of my face splitting open.

Nonchalantly I stuff the piece of paper down my bra, as though this was just a regular occurrence and pointedly ignoring everyone's open-mouthed expressions.

Would you have it. Alex Vause my most challenging patron to date had just broken our Haven tip record, indirectly persuaded Red that I _was_ actually useful, who may even promote me after all, and most importantly, had just given me a second chance to say yes.

Not bad for someone who I thought was a grade A asshole.

A hot asshole, may I add.

What can I say...I'm shallow.

.

.

.

 _AN: What a pair of hotheads. (Sigh)_


	4. Tonight I'm going wild

4\. Tonight I'm going wild.

* * *

 _AN: An NSFW disclaimer. Children, BE GONE._

 _(Perspective is Piper's)_

.

.

.

Ugh. Whoever said Google was the all-knowing and all-seeing eye was blatantly lying through their teeth.

Three hours of google-stalking _'Alex Vause'_ had rendered me absolutely nothing.

Omnipotent my ass.

Also more importantly; what kind of sociopath doesn't have Facebook?

I'd been on page five of the google search results when my troubles were temporarily rewarded. But it turned out to be an article about some guy called Alex Vause who lived in Scandinavia, who'd won the annual bratwurst eating contest. Definitely not something Alex would ever waste her time on.

(I know I know, no self-respecting Gen Y person ever goes beyond page one of google search results)

(I'll admit I went as far as page nine before I was forced to abandon my internet stalking

.

.

.

"Piper Elizabeth Chapman. Either you've suffered a stroke or you've literally been smiling the whole time we've been sat here."

Meet Polly: my friend. My confidante. My long time partner in crime. My shoulder to cry on.

"Are you even listening to me? What in the fuck is wrong with you?"

My pain in the ass on many an occasion - today being one of them.

"I _am_ listening! Jesus Christ!" I scold back.

"Really? She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Go on, enlighten me then."

"Are you serious?" I huff out indignantly. 'Obviously you're talking about how Ryan at work has been giving you the evil eye and you think he doesn't like you but Dawn said he actually _does_ like you."

"Are you fucking kidding me? That was like half hour ago ago! And it's _Ralph_ for the record, god."

I blink guiltily. "Sorry."

It was any wonder I could hear anything over the singsong medley that kept playing around my head for the last few days:

 _Alex wants me Alex wants me Alex wants me_

"Okay what on earth has happened in the last week to make you look like you've simultaneously won the lottery and discovered the cure to world hunger?

"Nothing." I offer weakly.

"Nothing? Well whatever it is - I want a piece of that nothing."

That was an unfortunate choice of words and I had to bite my lips to stop myself from bursting out into a fit of giggles.

Polly just narrows her eyes, glaring at me like I'm some sort of deranged crazy person.

"Who are you? And what have you done to my friend?"

"Don't be so dramatic." I sit forward. Already half-regretting saying yes to our coffee date. "What's new in your life?" I attempt to steer the conversation away from my dreamy happenings, but this is Polly Harper we're talking about. The same girl who once bought flea-infested croissants from the grocery's and wouldn't rest until she'd been handed a personal apology from the store manager himself. She'd also in the process, somehow bagged herself a year's supply of croissants. The main reason why my breakfast nowadays consisted of croissants.

"I'm not going to rest until I find out the reason for your big ass orgasm face."

"Really?" I do my best offended face.

"I'm going to go down a list of possibilities and I want you to raise your eyebrows when I hit the right answer."

"Polly, I'm so not participating in this foolery."

"We've already established it's highly unlikely you've won the lottery 'cause otherwise you'd have paid for our drinks." Polly says smoothly ignoring my half-hearted woes.

"Oh my god! You're the one who insisted."

"I offered _once_ and I waited for you to offer again just so that I could decline."

Polly genuinely believed in this twisted logic of hers judging from her smug look. 'That's ridiculous and you know it."

"It's called social etiquette."

"Whatever."

I'm so done with Polly right now…all I can think of is how much longer I'd have to endure this.

"Okay so where was I, not the lottery." She raised her eyebrows, "Red promoted you?"

My face stays impassive .

"You've got a pay rise?"

Nothing. I'm determined not to participate.

"Your landlord doesn't hate you anymore?"

"What?" I round my face at hers.

"Just checking you're actually listening." She carries on with this frankly stupid game. I'm already dozing off when she blurts out. "You got laid?"

My eyebrow twitches involuntarily.

Fuck.

"You got laid!"

My eyes flicker in horror, just as I quickly glance around us. "My mom in Connecticut couldn't quite hear you. Any louder?"

Polly's too busy squealing like I _had_ won the lottery. The sex lottery.

(Like I said earlier…people were way too invested in my sex life.)

"Details. All of it."

"There's nothing to detail." I huff relentlessly.

 _Yet._

 _I haven't yet got laid._

Guiltily, my eyes shoot up, worried that Polly may have heard that but she's still hot on her quest to find out the reason for my newly found happiness.

"So?"

I reluctantly return from my Alex filled reverie and just shake my head. "So what?"

"Well something or _someone_ has happened, Piper. So cut the I don't know what you're talking about bullshit and spill."

I might as well tell her. It looks like she wouldn't give it a rest until I provided her with something to sate her voracious appetite.

Rolling my eyes, I hunch even more forward. "You know how I've got a new neighbour... how she was this neighbour from hell with her antisocial tendencies…"

"Get to the point, Piper."

"The night I got pissed and got locked out my door and she helped and we got talking-"

"Hold right there." Polly raises her hands, palms splayed outwards. "I need a minute to take this in. This is profound stuff."

I'm not sure whether she over-dramatising but I carry on. "So I thought I'd slept with her…but didn't…so she comes to Haven and basically asks me out."

"How can you _not_ know?"

"You do remember how much alcohol we had that night?" I ask as a way of explanation.

"Fair point."

"Anyway-"

"She asked you out: yes or no?"

"Not sure." I answer honestly.

Polly cuts a slice of cake, and turns back to me again. "What's her name?"

"Alex. Alex Vause."

"What does she look like?"

"Tall. Hot." My eyes widen all of a sudden. "And she wears those glasses that Chris Hemsworth wore in that interview you're so obsessed with."

"She's got taste." Polly nods approvingly. "What does she do?"

I bring my brows up into an amused frown. "You're like my dad trying to assess the suitability of my would be relations."

"Just answer the question."

"She works for some big advertising company down in Manhattan, I think."

"Wait a minute!" Polly practically flies out of her chair, nearly knocking down most of our table contents. "It's not Alex Atwood? At the Excelsior?"

I'm busy scraping off my cheesecake from the floor where it has met its mushy fate. Narrowing my eyes, I sit back up, "What are you talking about?"

Polly whips her phone out. I watch her jab the screen a few times before she turns it to me.

To my complete surprise: there was Alex, clear as day. It's a corporate photo judging from the professional finish. She looks slightly younger, face more tanned, facing the camera directly and projecting her usual come at me look. Even in picture, she was fine as hell, dark hair falling to just below her shoulders, eyes radiating their intense green, burning the camera lens with it.

I can only slowly shake my head, shock having rendered me speechless. I can't even fully appreciate all of the above, a thousand other thoughts were traversing through my head.

I also had about a week's worth of Google stalking to catch up on…no wonder I couldn't find anything. All I had to type into the search box was her professional name: Alex Atwood.

I return to reality, remembering Polly had somehow unravelled all this within a space of a few seconds than I could over the last few weeks. "How the hell do you know her?"

"So it's her?" She throws back.

"Yeah."

"Holy shit." Polly leans back, absorbing that in for a moment. "You know how I'm always trash-talking Excelsior and Co; you know our biggest competitor?"

My slow brain cells are finally waking up as I quietly finish off her sentence, too astonished to even speak. "The cut-throat young exec who turned the company from nothing into the biggest adverting company in New York." I glance at Polly. "You talk about this all the time."

"I'm more concerned how you've not added two and two together and never even realised this?"

I added two and two and made ninety. Because I was too busy eye-fucking her. Or she was eye-fucking me leaving me with my hands full? I'm not sure which it is. (I'll have to come back to that later)

Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The large tip. The massive apartment. The very inflated ego issues.

Actually scratch the ego part…I'm working on the assumption that was just part of her personality.

I'll give you some background info so you'll understand just what the fuck is happening because right now it feels as though I'm whitewater rafting without any paddles and no life vest. Take that exact feeling and multiply it by about a hundred.

So, my highly esteemed friend here, works for a smallish commercial company that has been trying to establish itself onto the markets for a while. Difficult when there's a giant ass company - aka Excelsior and Co - kind of monopolising the sector. A company so large and successful, businesses are throwing their money at them in the hope Excelsior adds them to their portfolio and publicly sponsors them.

Because once they started publicising those businesses, they were guaranteed that even the homeless person on a random street in downtown Lima, Peru, would know of their business.

Enter Alex.

Who I've now recently discovered was the young exec Polly has been talking about in less than stellar terms. The young woman who had grown up in a life of poverty, dropped out of high school and started working at Excelsior back when it was nothing but a blip on the radar. Fast forward five years and Alex had turned the company into a global Fortune 500 brand.

"Oh my actual god." Polly exclaimed finally. "It's like a real life fifty shades of grey situation." She threw an impressed smirk. "Fifty shades of _gay._ Which sounds way more hotter if you ask me."

I offer her an unimpressed smile and take a sip from my coffee which had long gone cold. "Riveting."

Hey Pipe." Polly whispers excitedly. "She's not into all the BDSMy and kinky stuff is she?"

I roll my eyes around. "How would I know that?"

"I mean you haven't seen furry handcuffs or any incriminating leather whips lying about?"

"Not that I could see in the immediate vicinity."

She turns serious again. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." I'm still kind of reeling from this new found information. "She's kind of cocky and a bit of a know it all." I rethink that out loud.

"So? Cocky is good. Know it alls are good. She might actually turn you from the boring eighty year old grandma that you've become back into someone who's marginally exciting."

"Uh thanks?"

"C'mon Piper. You fucking bought a shower bench. If that's not a sign of a thirty-something who really wants to live the life of an octogenarian, I don't know what is."

"I happen to like to sit down when I'm showering."

"Cool. I've already bought you a knitting set for this Christmas."

"Also I thought you hated her. You talk about this Excelsior more than you do Ryan."

"It's Ralph." She rolls her eyes. "I hate the company because it's successful and rich but I admire the person who built it up to that and to be honest if I was into girls I'd have taken her myself."

She must have noticed my slightly worried expression. "I'm waiting for you to growl at me like a cavewoman who's been scorned."

"Fuck off."

"Relax she's all yours and judging from your about to eat me alive expression - you're very much into her. That's all the answer you need, babe."

Oh and speaking of lotteries. My hand twirls around the piece of paper Alex gave me with her number written on it.

My numbers may just win me the _lottery._

Who knew? This might just be my lucky draw.

.

.

.

Remember how I called Alex Vause an asshole.

Well let me just revise that term of endearment to something slightly more apt, which is asshole of the highest order.

Turns out the cell number she gave me was wrong.

I only realised this after I'd spent a full five minutes psychologically prepping myself and outlining the basic script of our would-be phone call.

Not being able to call or text her meant I was forced to turn to my next method of contact: knocking on her door. Alex had opened the door after the first knock, greeting me without a trace of surprise.

It was almost as though she'd been expecting me.

I wouldn't past her to have purposely given me a wrong number.

I must have stood there with my usual lost for words expression I seemed to increasingly harbour whenever I was put in close proximity to Alex.

It didn't also help when Alex was wearing an interesting ensemble of what was jeans and a black waistcoat with nothing but a lacy bra underneath. I'd happily confirmed this after catching a peek of generous cleavage when she'd bent to forward to pick something off the floor. (I _may_ have dropped my phone accidentally on purpose)

Alex is now leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, and eyeing me with her usual lascivious stare. "And we meet again."

Her know-it-all leer does its usual job of leaving me rattled, compelling me to speak, "Nobody. Absolutely nobody leaves $250 tips without wanting something in return." I manage to garble out.

"You know it's awfully rude to start with questions before we've even exchanged greetings, don't you think?"

"Did you deliberately give me a wrong phone number?"

Alex sighs, uncrossing her arms and tilts her head up in a gesture of deep thought, "There it is again, a _question._ "

"Okay" I suppress a giant eye roll. "If this is what you're going to be like."

She removes her glasses and takes her time in cleaning the lenses, forcing me to watch as well, "Can't someone show a token of appreciation when the service they'd been given was second to none?"

"In my books $250 is more than just a 'token of appreciation' and whatever it is that you want from me - I'll be unable to give."

"Are you a 100% sure of that?"

I hesitate, not sure what she was insinuating but I could hazard a guess judging from the smile breaking across her face.

I'm not even sure why I'm here or what I was expecting really. Come to think of it, I'm not even supposed to like her. Yet here I am. Through my own volition.

"In the interest of manners, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut you short and ask you to continue this conversation inside."

If I didn't know any better than may have been the best way to tell me to shut the fuck and get inside.

I happily oblige.

.

.

.

"Oh my god. You live in a Tardis." I exclaim as soon as I step into her apartment

"I live in a _what?"_

 _"_ You know Doctor Who and the phone box?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Never mind."

To be fair I _was_ clutching at straws to think she'd ever get that reference.

I can't help but be in awe of the sheer expanse of the place. She must have knocked an adjacent apartment together, creating a large open-plan area. It was at least three times bigger than mine.

Alex had good taste. I'll give her that.

Although very sparsely decorated, the warm colour schemes, strategic throw pillows, and floor to ceiling windows made it feel lived in. Next, my eye caught the piles and piles of record albums stacked high against a far wall, which were competing with the almost obscene number of books filling the shelves above.

The only thing that was lacking was photos.

Everywhere I looked and there was not a single photograph of family or friends or even a significant other.

I cock my head and glance at the book spines, surprised when I notice she had nearly every volume of Stephen King titles.

"You're into Stephen King?"

"Why are you acting so surprised?"

"I figured you'd be into-"

She cuts me off, "Harry Potter? Or maybe Mills & Boon?"

"No" I shake my head. "I thought maybe you would have read the entire collection of _How to be an asshole 101_ since you're so good at that."

Alex shook her head laughing. "You hold me in such high regard...as a matter of fact I also recently completed the rather advanced stage collection of _how to be an asshole with class_ or my other real favourite _asshole who dresses well and speaks in innuendos"_

 _"_ Ah, not heard those. I must have skipped them at my book reading club."

"That's a real shame." Her lips segue into a grin as her eyes lowered bashfully. "You should try it sometime."

I walk toward the window and gaze at the view before us, the pale colours of dusk sun bathing the glass high rises in a shroud of pastel orange. I suddenly laugh out loud.

"Also your view is about a thousand times better than mine. All _I_ have is the back of a Walmart and a full view of the county jail."

"Yeah?"

I turn around, slightly unnerved when I notice Alex had come to stand by my side, her body no more than a feet away. Flustered I continue. "Uh yeah. I've seen things that I probably shouldn't have seen."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact the police at the jail always order from the Mr Papa's around the corner. I mean if there was ever a means of smuggling someone out, it would be in the back of a Mr Papa's delivery van."

"How intriguing."

I turn around and launch into a detailed account of that time I'd been privy to the clandestine drug exchange happenings behind the big Walmart, but I stop short when Alex continues giving me that look. I realise how ridiculously mundane my stories are and worriedly think of what Alex must think of me, boring and pedestrian. That familiar feeling trickles through me: the need to impress people, steer them away from boring-ass Piper and cast the illusion of excitement and originality.

"Enough about your surveillance habits, tell me about _you."_

The question throws me. It's strangely candid.

It's easy talking about things and stuff, but about myself? Well that's whole different ball game. Also I hate open-ended questions. I've always been more comfortable with the yes or no variety.

"What do you want to know?"

I watch her stroll toward the kitchen, bang open a few cupboards and set out a mix of ingredients obviously required to make a cocktail.

"You can't answer questions with questions."

"Well I work at Haven, but you already knew that." I laugh self-effacingly "I've lived here for about two years, went to Smith to study History of Art and-"

"When I said tell me about yourself - I didn't mean read out a word by word recitation of your resume." She lifts her eyes, her smile full of tease. That need to impress her comes over me again.

I busy myself with watching her mix the drinks, expertly pouring the mix out into two glasses, her hand movements nimble and deft, hypnotising me.

The spell's broken when she places the glass in front of me. I can't help but release a moan of appreciation when I take my first sip, deliberately ignoring her entertained eyebrow raise and carry on sipping. My rejoinders could wait because this drink was beyond fucking marvellous.

"Where did you learn how to make these?"

"I work in advertising. Probably the dullest job on planet earth, so I take up hobbies just to stop myself from jumping off a cliff."

"Is revving your motorcycle at the crack of dawn also part of these hobbies?"

She finishes the last of her drink, her lips turning into an amused smirk. "Smooth."

She points her finger at me. "But she sounds great doesn't she?"

"She?"

"Angie."

"Really?"

"People name their dogs, their boats. Hell, they name their trophies, and I happened to have named my bike."

"Which is it with you?" I start in my smug overtones. "Alex Vause or should I call you Alex _Atwood_?"

"Atwood's much too corporate." She smiles, too smart for her own good. "Just stick with with Vause or Alex even."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Like I genuinely even had the right.

"Is that a big problem to you or something?"

"What? No! Of course not." I scramble for words, my intonation all apologetic. I'm already regretting my brief venture into snark.

No, I'll have to leave that to her.

"Relax." She pours me another drink and watches me gulp it down in what was probably in very unladylike fashion." I was just fucking with you."

No sooner had she said that, I find myself spluttering over half my drink out through a series of semi-gasps and coughs. Alex was thumping my back, almost ready to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre while I was busy contemplating whether the wording of that had been deliberate or she just liked her innuendos.

"You okay?" Alex was looking at me like I was one of those stupid kids that had just been rescued from drowning in a two inch deep rain puddle.

"Yeah. Yeah. Must've gone down the wrong way or something." I straighten myself out, nursing my remaining drink, determined not to catch her eye - because I was about 90% sure she'd be poised with that self-satisfied grin. And I didn't want to give her the upper hand with me responding to that in the form of a blotchy red neck and lit up cheeks.

"For a minute there I thought things would escalate to the point where I'd have to give you the kiss of life."

I laugh feebly.

I figured the answer was she likes her innuendos and was very deliberate about them too.

.

.

.

There's absolutely nothing conventional about our relationship and it had me thinking this was how Bella must have felt when Edward the shiny vampire had fallen for her. Minus the blood sucking of course.

"You don't have a fucking toaster?" Alex asks incredulously as she leans against the worktop of my kitchen.

I may or may not have invited her in when we caught the elevator together after bumping into each other at the apartment lobby.

"I do but it doesn't work."

"So how do you toast your bread?"

"I don't."

"And how long has it been like this?"

"I don't know, about three months."

"You've been toast-less for three whole months?"

"It's not a big deal."

"Let me at least have a look at it."

"Alex, honestly, there's no point. I just need to buy a new one." I've been saying that to myself for the last couple of months but never seem to come round to actually doing that. I mean - toaster replacements was somewhere at the bottom of my list of priorities right now.

"Have you got a wrench?"

"No."

"A screwdriver?"

"Don't think so."

 _"Any_ kind of tool?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't think I need those things considering I'm not a handyman or a mechanic."

"You don't have to be a handyman to have basic things like a wrench, you know." Alex scoffs.

Disgruntled, I huff, "I just call my handyman to do handyman things…why should I try and fix it when there are people you can call who've trained to do these exact sort of things."

I'm not going to deny - I was beginning to sound like my mom who is by the way the poster-woman for all things WASPy, but I was in way too deep now to admit to the fact I was probably wrong.

"I'm going to fix it whether you like it or not. No human should live without one."

"Just don't use a hot glue gun."

"Why would I? I'm not fucking stupid." Alex laughs before she catches my sour of a face, and laughs a different kind of laugh. "Oh."

.

.

.

Alex hadn't at that occasion and it's only a few days later when someone knocks on my door.

"I've come to fix your toaster."

"What are you doing here?"

"That's the wrong answer I'm afraid."

"Do you have any idea of the time?"

Alex shrugs. "Well since three am was a perfectly normal time for you to deliver personalised letters, I figured eleven is not an unreasonable hour." She smiled. "Plus I've got pizza. No one says no to pizza."

I fold my arms, not wanting to make it that easy for her. "Pepperoni and cheese?"

"Now you're just doubting me."

I raise my eyebrows, waiting.

"Pepperoni and cheese. The one with the proper Italian cheese." She lifts her gaze. "You know the melt in your mouth consistency."

I can't help but permit a small smile. "Now you're just teasing me."

"No tease. Premium cheese. An explosion of goodness right there in your mouth."

I'm not entirely sure how we've moved from pizza toppings into these carnal territories but it has me blushing like a fucking tomato.

"Are we still talking about cheese, or?"

"I was just practicing my pizza foreplay." She holds the box out to me. "This delicious baby isn't going to eat itself you know."

Smiling, I swing the door open, moving aside to let her in before brazenly adding, "Foreplay is always followed by greater things."

I've been upping my flirt game quite a lot in recent days - although I'm not sure if I've just scored an own goal on this occasion.

Alex brushes past me, winking at me. "Well aren't you a bucket full of surprises, Piper Chapman."

One nil to me it seems.

If there's one thing my college level English has taught me, it's how to net myself beauties like that.

* * *

We ended up sharing most of the pizza between us. Alex was being surprisingly human like, none of the sarcastic throwbacks or the myriad of euphemisms that treaded the line of decorum reared their heads tonight. This was highlighted quite nicely when Alex didn't so much as roll her eyes when I primly asked whether the pizza base was gluten free or not. I mean we could say I was goading her whenever I whipped out my full on insufferable middle-class valley girl routine but I could tell Alex was secretly amused by it from beneath all those disparaging remarks and subtle smirks. And me being the people pleaser that I am, obviously went hard on the pleasing.

There's a sex joke in there somewhere.

Ten points to Gryffindor for whoever can find it.

(If you haven't realised by now, I'm _insufferable)_

Alex made the executive decision of taking the remaining pizza slice which is just as well. I have an unwritten rule where at least a third of my stomach needs to have room remaining for alcohol.

We're watching the final film of my most loved trilogy, much to Alex's reluctance. I could sort of see why: it featured girls crying at the drop of a hat and people stabbing each other in the back at every given opportunity. My kind of thing. I'm commenting on the ridiculous scene where Misha is making out with a guy she literally met about two scenes ago

"Don't you find it weird when people move so fast?"

"Not really." Alex replies without looking.

I turn to look at her, genuinely interested in the reasonings behind that. "Explain."

"I mean some people click." She snaps her fingers. "Just like that. Why drag things out unnecessarily."

"But you haven't even got to know the person properly."

She still doesn't turn around, "If you're meant to be. You're meant to be."

"Even if you don't even know what you have in common?"

Alex flicks her eyes away from the TV. "You sound really passionate about these things." She raises her eyebrows. "And where do _you_ factor into all of this, Piper Chapman?"

I stumble over my words, "I'd like to get to know the person first before I tried anything."

(I had a feeling we weren't speaking anecdotally anymore)

"Okay." She drawls out slowly, her eyes dancing with mirth. "And where am _I_ in this getting to know a person journey of yours?"

"Let's just stay we're not even a third of the way through."

I'm stubborn. I take after my equally stubborn mother.

"So I'm quarter of the way through." Alex muses thoughtfully. "Luckily for me, I'm quite an optimistic person." She shifts her weight so that's she's facing me full on. "We can fix the rest of the three quarters in no time."

"How?" I can't help but ask.

"Ask me questions to get to know me better. Simple."

"Really?"

"I'm moving my eyebrows very judiciously here. Hint: I'm deadly serious."

"Deadly?"

"You've just learned a new thing about me, I like to exaggerate. Next question."

I dumbly realise she's actually being earnest, my mind's blank so I blurt out the first thing I ask when I message people on Tinder. "What's your favourite colour?"

Alex just shakes her head, chuckling. "How does the answer to that question in any way tell you anything about me. Also the last time someone asked me that was when I answered those security questions when I signed up to my email account."

She had a point. "Okay favourite food?"

Alex laughed out loud. "You're too adorable."

I make a face and scrunch my lips together.

"Coq au vin for the record."

No wonder the vast majority of my Tinder dates always failed to materialise.

"I'll give you a helping hand." Alex pushes her glasses into her hair. "What makes you cry out in ecstasy? What gives you the most pleasure?"

My eyes widened. "Are those rhetorical?"

She sits back, lips curling into a suggestive smirk. "Just a few examples to set the trend."

Can I just pause and add my tuppence worth and say Alex has an uncanny skill of looking eternally hot when she talked dirty.

I decide to not follow that trend and start of with more basic questions, "What makes you angry?"

"Now we're talking. Let's see: people who don't yield at give ways, finding a hair in my takeout, when it rains, when I'm hungry, when the coffee runs out."

"What makes you happy?"

"Reading a good book, pay rises, good food, sandy beaches." She pauses for a second. "Good company."

I smile like a school girl who'd just been awarded a gold star. "Do _I_ qualify as good company?"

That coaxes a wry smile from Alex. "Is the sky blue?"

An almost over the top delight catches in my chest and it feels like I've been catapulted to the roof of the building.

It's strange because the dislike for Alex I'd so actively displayed has always been a kind of half-hearted one that just barely concealed the Empire State crush I had on her.

I had finally figured that out after four glasses of wine and a giant piece of discounted cake I'd shovelled down not a few nights ago.

She throws me that roguish grin, like she knows exactly what I'm thinking about and it has me blushing so hard it's all I can do but laser my gaze at the film we're supposed to be watching. I had no idea what was going on even though I've not seen this third instalment of my favourite movie ever.

I'd lost track of the plot the second Alex had sat down beside me and felt her leg brush up against mine. I had tried my utmost in following the story but my mind palace kept construing some interesting plots of my own, starring Alex and I - whenever she caught my eyes, or my eyes fell to her too tight top. Let's just say my envisions are of the R rated kind. No kids allowed.

"So what makes you happy?" Alex suddenly asks, her voice low and brow arching curiously.

In all honesty I would have answered with a somewhat serious answer but that's negated when Alex's lips segue into a flirtatious smile, her eyes focusing in on my own lips.

She was making things crystal clear.

"Blue seas. Foot massages. Warm beaches. Farmer's markets." I hesitate before adding "…maybe you."

"I see." She makes a point of moving away the pizza box separating us and flings it onto the coffee table before sliding my feet over her lap and begins massaging them with gentle strokes.

"Where are we on that getting to know me journey of yours now?"

I have to hold in my moans of pleasures to be able to answer coherently. "About halfway in."

(feetgasms was a new thing I'm going to add to my list of happy things)

"We're doing well."

"Hmmmm."

Alex slides her hand over my feet, kneading my toes one by one. "What else do you like, Piper Chapman?"

There are a few things in life I lived for and Alex using my full name was the latest addition to my newly created list.

I'm too busy mentally cataloguing all the moments that had led up to this point to register Alex had sidled closer to me. My heart had already been hammering away the second she'd flung that pizza box away and did away with the tiny amount of space that separated us, but now the anticipation was close in causing me spontaneously combust.

"Because I liked you the second you accused me of misplacing trash." Alex says in a low husky tone. "I haven't told you this but you looked so damn hot getting all worked up and bothered."

I'm too entranced to even move a muscle. My body heat must be registering higher than the highest recorded temperature in Florida.

"It's your lips I like the most." She traces them with her fingers and I forget to breathe. "But I can't _quite_ decide between that and your eyes."

"Maybe I can help with that." I murmur dreamily, not even fully aware of what I'd just said.

"Hmmm, I think that's a very good suggestion. After all I have to be definitely sure which it is."

"Of course."

I could feel her stroke my hair, her fingers lightly padding across my face, tracing the outline of my cheekbones before coming to a rest at my nape. Her breath is hot and her eyes an even more intense green than I ever could imagine. And those lips. Ready and reserved for me. And so so close. Just a few microscopic inches.

For once in her life, Alex lets me have what I wanted.

We're kissing.

Right here on my sofa. In my apartment.

Alex kisses me and the world fell away. I hardly had a second to react before she pressed her tongue to the seam of my lips and delved into my mouth. Something awakens inside me, and I lunge forward, firmly kissing her back.

You would think that after weeks of imagining, I would know all there was to know about Alex. What I hadn't discovered was how soft and warm her lips were, and how her hands roaming over my neck and nape obliterated every sane thought in my head.

My hands bury themselves in her hair. I'm too lost in the feeling to even register I'd knocked off her glasses. Alex responds by pushing me backward, draping herself over me, our kisses growing more urgent and frenzied.

"Anything else you need to know about me." She groans into my ear just as my hands found their way under her shirt.

I was right again. Braless.

"I think we've kinda past that now." I murmur breathily, my senses too overwrought to manage more than even a sentence.

"I'm not a clothes person. That's another thing."

"Yeah?"

"I have a special aversion to them." Alex's lips are smiling against mine. They briefly leave and skim the rest of my neck, leaving my skin feeling raw and electric. She rips open my shirt, buttons flying everywhere before she skims her fingers over my offensively sensitive nipples.

The shirt was from Macy's anyway, and I never liked that colour on me either.

"Fuck you're beautiful." Alex mutters in a breath of approval, her eyes washing over my body in sinful streams of desire.

I'm powerless to stop her from delving her hands under my waistband and it's all I can do but bite my lips together as sensations too much to handle for me erupt and send sparks flying through my brain.

"Alex…"

"Also I'm kind of merciless, too."

She punctuates this with pressing her fingers even harder against my centre. And lord help me…this is the closest I'm going to get to a near death experience. Or I've already gone. Genuinely, I'm not sure. I clench my jaw shut, my fingers and nails digging into her back, feeling her shoulder muscles rippling underneath them.

Alex teases me with her lips, lightly skating over them, backing away as I arched forward, my neck muscles taut and stretched.

I'm strung tight. My hips buck forwards as her fingers increase in tempo and she's right, she's merciless. And it's maybe the first time I've cried out in an almost animalistic growl.

"Easy tiger."

"Shit Alex. Shit. Fuck."

I'm climbing higher and higher. Her fingers faster and faster. My toes curl downwards, my hands grabbing onto anything they can find. Alex's skin feels smooth and soft, the surface of it covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Where are we in that journey of ours, now?"

Was she fucking nuts?

I'm writhing around underneath her, her hands doing things I didn't think human hands were capable of doing, exploring, digging and stroking and she asks me this?

And then it suddenly stops.

I breathe out a breath that I must have been holding for five minutes and slowly flicker my eyes open.

"You didn't answer the question." She chuckles, green eyes swimming with pure cockiness as her lips lifted into that signature salacious grin of hers.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I murmur breathlessly.

Her fingers twitch and it sends me into a renewed moan. "100%!" I gasp "We're at the end of the journey!"

"Good girl."

Her lips reunite with mine, our tongues thrusting against each other in a crazy dance of ecstasy and carnal desire.

She slides even further, her mouth tracing downwards, sparing not one part of me untouched and it leaves geysers of hot, throbbing want ready to burst right there in the open.

Alex's husky laugh forewarns her doings and her mouth dives right into me, and I'm so thankful for my apartment with its fifty inch thick walls and double glazed windows because my voice has turned raspy and hoarse from all the _fucks_ and _Alex's_ I've been screaming during the last few minutes of my earth-shattering orgasm.

I slowly return to some sort of stability with regards to my mental faculties and murmur my dumbfounded appreciation. "Wow."

Alex is still breathing heavily. Her toned biceps bracketed over me as she gazed over me, eyes glittering. "I strive to provide the five star treatment."

"Five stars?" I chuckle. "I was seeing about a thousand of them at one point."

Alex turns back and cranes over at the television before fixing me with an apologetic expression, her hands absently running through my hair. "Sorry you missed your film."

I push myself up to my elbow and throw her an incredulous look. "You're such a tease."

"If you must know though, the girl with the manky eyes dies halfway through because she trusted the guy with the three-legged dog when she shouldn't have."

"You fucking seen this already?"

"I'm just good at multi-tasking."

"Alex, you just ruined the entire trilogy for me and you spoiled it just like that?"

My whispered outburst is cut off. "You want to be fucked or not?"

That stops me dead in my tracks, a blush of something heating up my face. I didn't think that particularly direct line of questioning was warranted since there was only one answer and we both knew what it was.

I'm almost too scared to ask. "So what was it that we were doing before?"

"Oh that?" Alex smirks, chuckling as she pulled her own top off and shimmied out of her jeans. "That was just the warm-up, baby."

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I wake up to the bright rays of morning sun warming up my face and manage to crack a lazy smile when the night's events come steamrolling back. I turn my head, having to remind myself that last night had indeed happened and wasn't some figment of my overactive imagination.

But where Alex should have been was an empty half of my bed, complete with made up duvets and plumped out pillows, so that it looked as though she'd never even been here. For a brief second I contemplate whether I _had_ imagined it all but then that couldn't be the case because my whole body was pleasantly aching from worn out muscles that had been exercising the whole of last night.

Full on disappointment drives out my earlier pleasant mood in a matter of seconds. I don't even know exactly why it affected me so much. Alex didn't strike me as the kind of person to hang around for pillow talk or even worse, endure the realities the sex when daylight hit.

But some idealistic part of me had just stupidly assumed we'd what what? Waking each other up with chaste good morning kisses and then lovingly shower together?

But then the smell of toast wafts through the open bedroom door.

Confused, I roll out of bed, sitting up.

I can't make toast.

I don't have a working toaster.

So who was making magic toast without a functioning toaster?

My answer is given in the form of a question uttered in low husky tones. "Are you coming or what?"

I traipse into the kitchen and am greeted with the sight of Alex, leaning out of the window, blowing out plumes of cigarette smoke and wearing just her panties and tank top (which by the way, looked even more magnificent in the light of day).

With difficulty, I snatch my gaze away from this unlikely sexy scene and my eyes next rest on the table.

She made coffee and French toast... and were those slices of orange? Because I don't even remember having oranges but even more pressing, my toaster is now in full working order.

"Why are you here?' Is my first smart question. "And did you fix my toaster?"

"And good morning to you, too. I was beginning to think you were never going to wake up. I mean I _know_ we had quite a calorie consuming night but even the sun was beginning to feel unwanted and unappreciated."

I watch her move from the window and take a seat at the kitchen island. "Also yes, I fixed your toaster. Like I promised I would."

I plop down on one of the seats, where I repeat my dumb question.

If you must know…I have trust and abandonment issues and need constant validation to keep those dark thought at bay. (Deep I know)

"Why are you here?"

Alex carries on smoking, not at all affected by my frankly rude-ass greeting. "If you really have to ask…I generally tend to have breakfast in the morning. It's a unique pastime of mine. You should try it sometime."

"You know what I mean, Alex."

Alex sighs, crushing the cigarette in the ashtray. "I liked last night and so I figured I'd like spending the mornings with you too."

There's no hint of sarcasm or humour or even a trace of tease. This was Alex being totally and brutally honest.

She must have caught my stone-faced expression because she adds, uncertainty tainting her words. "I mean if this is not what you want…I don't want to force you into anything."

I stand up and round the table, pulling Alex's mouth against mine, an emphatic kiss neatly planted against her lips. I feel her stiffen with surprise just as I pull a chair beside her and bury my hand underneath hers. "Alex…I'm relieved. Relieved that you're still here, making breakfast and being nice." I pause, intertwining our fingers together. "It's really very lovely."

Alex's eyes flickered behind her glasses, her throat working as she swallowed but didn't say anything.

"Plus I get to wake up to all of _this."_ I make a show of raking over her body with exaggerated sweeps. "How could I say no to any of that? I'd be fucking stupid."

"I'm so glad to be objectified like that." Alex chuckles just as she strokes my lower back in slow endearing circles.

My voice turns serious again. "You know…I don't know what I was expecting really." I shrugged. "But all I know is that I'm glad you're here."

"Well I'm glad too."

I crane my head forwards and this time deliver a chaste kiss.

"I hate to say it…" Alex murmurs in between kisses. "But that toast is getting cold. And there's nothing worse in this world than cold toast."

I lean back, my hands still draped around her neck. "Why is it whenever I'm with you, I'm always presented with these difficult dilemmas of having to choose?"

"You don't have to choose." Alex reaches out and cuts a piece of the toast and holds it between her lips. "How about you have both?"

My eyes narrow with confusion.

Alex's eyes just twinkle mischievously. "Have your French toast followed by a French kiss." She places the piece in my mouth and then snogs the living daylights out of me.

This is the exact reason I should maintain my dogma of always keeping low expectations.

You were rewarded at every opportunity.

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	5. You're too irresistible, baby

5\. You're too irresistible, baby.

* * *

 _AN/ I'm a generous giver who likes to to give. More below._

 _NSFW 2.0 for those folk who like to be pre-warned and/or teased (sexily winks)_

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"So just to reiterate you've never seen Harry Potter?"

"Like I said…never." Alex sighs wearily.

I can't help but press on. "Not even an accidental glimpse when it comes on television or even a few seconds from a trailer?"

"I don't think I have."

"There's about seventeen hours of footage from all the eight films combined and you're telling me you've lived your entire life not seeing any of it?"

"Should I have?" Alex responds lazily.

I'm too incredulous to accept her answer. "I'm sorry, but I can't quite grasp that."

"What were those people you mentioned again, _The Demented_ or something?"

"You mean _Dementors?"_

"You're acting like one of them right now." Alex mutters. "Sucking all the fun out."

"You have such flair for the kind word."

Alex softly bands my hair away from my face, "Why the surly face? All it does is obscure those pretty blues." She ducks her head and lightly traces her lips over mine, pushing me back against the door, just as I strained my own lips for more contact. I melt into her like wax, closing my eyes as I let myself give over into the heat again.

If you must know, I've been attempting to get ready for the last half hour but failing spectacularly. Unfortunately, I have yet to be blessed with willpower that could evade Alex and her _looks._

There were many of those looks but there was one in particular that would immediately halt me in my steps; _the I want you in my bed now and it doesn't really matter what you think or that you're going to be at least half a day late should I have my ways with you - because either way it's going to happen - whether you like it or no_ t.

 _Yes,_ that specific one. As you can imagine, quite difficult to say no to.

"Alex...I'm genuinely going to be late." I make the mistake of briefly glancing at the clock above us.

"Wait a minute! How is it past half seven? Fuck...I have to be at work in like half hour, and more pressingly; how have we been here for over two hours?"

"I don't know, Piper." Alex resumed her ministrations. "Time flies when you're having fun, haven't you heard?"

"This is serious, Al." I'm already envisioning Red raining her scowls and Russian intoned hisses at me while everyone pitifully watches on. I'm sure 18th century executions have had less audiences than my imminent downfall should I turn up late (again)

"What am I going to say?" I ask dumbly, fixing my hair back into something that didn't resemble a poorly constructed bird's nest.

"You'll think of something, you're pretty resourceful, babe."

"Like what?"

My idiocy fails to acknowledge that if I actually stopped now and got dressed, I'd be able to get to work on time, but my logic of a brain always stopped working when Alex even so much as winked at me.

Alex tucks a stray strand of hair back. "Is that a rhetorical question? Or am I supposed to answer?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay...um you came down with the flu?"

"Really? Were you also the kid that always said the dog ate their homework?"

"You look scarily serious. Okay, how about, a family member fell ill and you had to travel upstate or something?"

"Okay okay." I furiously nod to myself. "That sounds reasonable." I look at Alex, willing her to agree with me. "She'll be fine with that right?"

Just then Alex bursts out laughing. "I wish people would believe _my_ bullshit excuses, however elaborate. I could get CCTV footage of me lying in a hospital bed and they still won't believe me."

"What the fuck Alex." I tug at her sleeves. "This isn't a joke."

"No, what I mean is, your track record is way more spotless than mine." She jests. "You need to use your whole miss goody two shoes, I would never hurt a fly routine to your advantage sometimes."

I hold in an eye roll. "I don't act like that at all."

Alex raises her eyebrows, challenging me. "You really believe that?"

I cross my arms, mildly offended. "I did kill an ant once, you know. I'm not _that_ innocent."

(I know, I'm making a very poor case)

"Aww, did you now? Was it already dead though? Because that doesn't count."

"I left it out in the garden when I found it crawling over my bedroom table, and I think the sun rays must have been too strong, and it _was_ actually really hot that day. I guess it must have eventually died from dehydration or a heat stroke, I'm not sure."

Alex collapses into a fit of snorts. "I'm so sorry." She waved her hand in a flag of apologies but kept breaking into renewed waves of laughter every time she catches my bewildered expression.

"Animal death is not a laughing matter."

"You sure you didn't leave it a saucer of water when you relocated the poor thing to the garden? Or maybe accompanied it with some sunscreen and a mini parasol? I mean these are outdoor insect essentials that they _just_ can't go without."

"You know you were beginning to grow on me, but I guess once an asshole always an asshole." I hiss in a stream of indignance.

"You _do_ _know_ I'm not holding you hostage, you are free to leave whenever you want."

She kinda is though. Hostaging me with her ridiculous good looks and magic hands that seemed to send me into an electric frenzy whenever they touched me.

"Oh fuck you, Alex. Less talk and more of the hand." I murmur defeatedly.

"With pleasure." She responds looking preposterously pleased with herself.

Red better start greasing up her guillotine because _I'm_ going to be royally late.

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A knock on the door temporarily douses the fire that is currently raging through my body. Alex must have felt my body tense up because she moves her mouth to my neck, ghosting delicate kisses all across my over-sensitive skin. I break through my ensuing moan. "Alex…door."

"Just leave it…it's probably some salesman."

Appeased, I let myself surrender back into her, the kisses deepening, reigniting the inner fire again with the simplest of touches. Alex's hands are roving my waist, climbing upwards and upwards, before finally reaching my breasts who stood ready and waiting.

She flings herself at me, hands hungrily massaging my breasts with such fervour, it's all I can do but clench my fists by my sides. It was as though Alex had cracked the code of the perfect touch, the one that had me biting my lips so hard I was worried I was going to cut straight through them. Just as I squeeze my eyes shut, the pressure of her hands and full lips ravaging my face, about to send me into a different realm altogether - a louder knocks rings through.

"Don't they know we're fucking busy?" Alex hisses between increasingly loud and urgent knocks.

Disappointed, I murmur. "I'll go."

With a certain amount of reluctance I extricate myself from beneath Alex and trudge the few steps to the door. Opening it mid-knock I'm met by a tall guy, maybe in his thirties, staring back at me, all impatient and mildly angry.

His face registers surprise. "You're not Alex."

"Uh no."

"Well is she here?"

"Is there anything you want me to pass on?"

He narrows his eyes, "Is she here?"

I catch his eyes staring at my neck with sudden piqued interest before looking back up at me, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side by several degrees.

Red-faced I already knew what he was honing in on. There it was or _were_ rather, reflected in the mirror next to the door, clear as day: several dark blotches of red marked across various points of my neck.

 _Hickies._

Courtesy of her, hickies that proudly stated their presence with the same zeal and self-assuredness as the person who inflicted them on me.

I bring my hand to my neck, flashes of how they came about momentarily distracting me.

Okay, inflicted may be the wrong word, maybe _gifted_ them?

"I'm sorry but who are you?" The guy asks, his voice full of suspicion.

"Who are you?" I throw back.

Exasperated, he shakes his head. "Where's Alex?"

" _She's not here."_ I hear Alex whisper in my ear. She must have stealthily crept up behind me, perfectly hidden from Mr Angry's line of vision. I feel her nudge me in my ribs prompting me to essentially parrot her words back. "She's not here."

"Where is she?"

" _Work."_

 _"_ Work." I echo.

He frowns again. "Who are you again?"

Alex murmurs more words in my ear.

"I'm her girlf-" I automatically regurgitate before stopping midway, realising what I was about to echo back.

He arches his eyebrows, "Well can you tell her she needs to pick up my phone calls…I know she's ignoring me. And can you also tell her, she's not the hot shot woman she thinks she is…" He starts backing away. "You tell her that."

I slam the door shut in a huff of righteous disapproval, already lining up with an army of questions for Alex but she's got other plans. Her hands slide under my shirt, gently caressing my back. I can feel her breathing hot on my neck. I swallow a groan, waves of pleasure ricocheting through my body.

I find myself terribly conflicted.

She twists me around and backs me against the door, continuing her voracious onslaught. "Now where were we?"

Her mouth descends against mine once again, the kiss warm and unhurried.

"Who was that?"

"No one important."

"He didn't seem that _unimportant."_

Alex chuckles. "He's a douche. You don't have to worry about him."

"He wasn't your boyfriend or anything?" I manage to gasp around Alex's tongue, firmly placed in my mouth.

"And what makes you think that?"

How she managed to undo my shirt without so much as a fumble was something I've yet to discover. Alex trails her mouth across my collarbone, before reaching that delicate point between my ear and shoulder.

"In my world… _fuck…_ ignoring phone calls… _Alex…_ ignoring phone calls is either because of a jilted lover or a salesman… _jesus christ…"_ She's never going to let me finish this sentence is she? On cue, Alex pauses for a second, and flashes me a ravishing grin.

"You've got one minute…so you were saying?"

Much more succinctly I ask. "Who was that?"

"Jack." I felt her smile against my skin, hands free to roam again.

Apparently my minute had already expired. "He's my co-partner at work."

"So you're not sleeping with him?"

Alex stops her movements, leans back and tilts her head. "Wait a minute…are you _jealous?"_

"Fuck no!" I scoff louder than necessary. "Never in a million years."

"So you don't care either way?"

Alex didn't wait for an answer, instead she carefully began unbuttoning her own shirt, letting it slide off her shoulders - permitting me a full view of toned arms and boob glory. I shiver involuntarily, my body betraying my goddamn mess of a mind right now - which was full with flitting images of mouths and thighs and secretary glasses.

I hesitate sheepishly. "Can you just answer my earlier question?"

I shudder just as my hands are roughly pinned above my head, her hips bucking against mine, any harder, I was sure that door was going to come clean off its hinges.

"Relax…I'm very anti-dick and _very_ pro this."

"Pro this?"

"Pro _you."_

 _"_ Because I don't have a dick?" I splutter.

"You really have a knack for setting just the right ambience with your choice of words."

I'm too engrossed by the sensation of Alex's tongue flicking my earlobe before moving back to my mouth and taking it with such ferocity…I'm pretty sure the reason I can't speak is because my lungs had all the air stolen. And how the fuck could I even coherently think much less function, when a hand kept escaping underneath the waistband of my jeans, causing my back to arch . My cries staple at the back of my throat, implicitly begging for more friction and pressure.

"I'm gay as fuck, Piper. So shut the fuck up with that that dick and boyfriend bullshit. It's slightly off-putting to say the least." Her eyes flew back to mine, dark and turbulent, daring me to speak out.

I keep shtum.

"Right now, let me fulfil all those fantasies of mine." She smirks and adds as an afterthought. "Those strictly _gay_ thoughts."

I didn't have be told twice.

It's my turn to take her mouth into a rapturous, hard kiss.

"Undo your pants." I command in a raspy voice I didn't know I even had. "Now."

Alex chuckled amusedly. "Is this the assertive Piper I've only _heard_ about?"

"It's your turn to shut the fuck up now." I growl into her hair. I'm not sure where this new found confidence was coming from but I liked it and so did Alex, because she near enough rips my jeans off and reunites our bodies again in mere seconds.

"Yes ma'am."

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* * *

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"Have you been attacked by a bear, Chapman?"

"What? Huh?" I swivel around, nearly dropping the plates I was carrying when I'm met by Red and her narrowed glare. I follow the direction of her disapproving gaze which was squarely rested all over my hickey-infested neck. Fuck, the makeup I'd so hastily applied this morning had already rubbed off revealing the consequences of my sin-filled morning.

I'd managed to evade Red and her polished guillotine in the nick of time, having quickly assumed my position at the back of the room for our morning brief, and thankfully hadn't noticed me.

"Something like that." I laugh weakly just as I mentally groan.

I could've said I've been attacked by a raccoon, a rodent...hell I even had the chance to blame it on the recent increase in New York's rat population. But no.

"You millennials and your vampire tendencies." She scowls. "Back when I was younger, a bowl of hot _borscht_ before bedtime and a few minutes of the good old missionary, and I'd be asleep like a baby fairy."

Red and missionary positions was _not_ something I wanted to hear about in the mornings. Actually scratch that - I don't want to hear ever. I give her my best polite smile and make a show of dashing into the kitchen, where I pick up my apron and list of orders before hastily setting off to work.

It's mid afternoon, and I'm partnered with Taystee today, who bless her has a tendency to talk more than work. "Hey Pipes, is your large tipper friend gonna come back by any chance?" She asks me just as we both collect our orders. "I mean if she _does_ can you let me take her orders? I've been meaning to buy this damn cute outfit that's on sale at JC Penney's and P, it's speaking to me every damn time I walk past the window display."

"I think it was just a one time thing." I add as a means of gently letting her down. "It took _me_ by surprise as well."

"It took us _all_ by surprise." Nicky flares in with her usual exaggerated entrance. "What Chapman is _trying_ to say is that those texts that she's secretly laughing at when she thinks we're not looking are most probably from our esteemed tipper, and that we definitely need to pretend we don't know about this."

My tone is grudging, "Hello, Nicky. How nice of you to grace us with your lovely presence."

She leans back against the counter, arms crossed, looking mightily pleased with herself "On a scale of one to ten, how right am I?"

My strangled expression is answer enough...I'd have to score Nicky a good solid ten.

I genuinely thought I'd been hiding it so well. I guess not by the looks of things. I mean I've probably not been so discreet with my reactions. But then again what sane person would not be able to contain their responses when they kept constantly receiving texts that would make my stomach muscles clench together in rapture or cause me to stick my entire fist in my mouth to stop the moans from escaping?

Yes, I was receiving those kinds of texts. The sexy times kind. The last text had me cross my legs with such force, I'd been highly certain I was going to dislocate a hip. During a particularly highly descriptive one of _what exactly she would do to me_ , I had to hide behind the pots and pans and wait for the tomato colour of my face to return to something more human like.

How did she even have time to be sending me all this? Wasn't she supposed to be some hotshot executive reigning in all her minions?

Nicky knowingly points at me, "Ten. I give myself a fair ten."

My phone's buzzing in my pockets announcing the arrival of yet another text.

I pretend I've not heard it.

"Aren't you gonna look at that, Pipe?" Taystee asks.

A tinkling laugh that wasn't the least bit authentic escaped from me

"She will." Nicky smirks at me. "But will it be _before_ or _after_ the cold shower? That's the 64 million dollar question."

.

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"Oh shit fuck!"

The sky had decided that the best time for a huge rain apocalypse was the second we had all stepped outside.

"What in the fuck is this?" Nicky lamented. "This isn't even normal rain! I swear it's raining horizontally."

We're all cowering beneath the flimsy canopy outside Haven. Some of us had just finished our shift and none of us had the good sense of bringing an umbrella much less wear something more suited to the wet conditions.

"Have you people never heard of umbrellas?" Soso's non-intentional smug voice rang out - everything came out as smug sounding with her whiny, social justice warrior voice ( if there's such a thing).

We all turn around, watching her stand beneath the most fluorescent pink umbrella I've ever seen.

"I'd rather drown in my own tears then been seen walking under that monstrosity." Nicky quipped. "I wouldn't want people mistaking me for a discount version Disneyworld character."

"Suit yourself then."

"Does that fit two people?" Taystee tentatively asks, apologetically shrugging her shoulders at us. "I gotta look out for my hair you guys. Do ya'll have any idea how long it takes to get it like this?"

"Really, Tay?" Poussey retorts. "You gonna abandon us like this?" As though Taystee had just committed the worst possible act of treason ever.

"I mean the colour isn't _that_ bad.' I add wistfully.

"Don't you fucking dare, Chapman." Nicky grabs me by the sleeve and drags me back before I could take a step forward. 'You're not jumping ship as well."

"But she looks so dry!" I protest, sadly watching her and Taystee walking away.

"C'mon you guys, it's not that far to the subway station…let's go." Poussey says with her usual optimistic thinking.

So we find ourselves semi-running, hands over our heads, trying (unsuccessfully) to stop the rain from gleefully soaking us.

"This reminds me, why the fuck do none of you drive?" Nicky says in between huffs of rapid breaths.

"This is New York!" Poussey answers swiftly. 'You'd be batshit crazy."

"The bigger argument is why between four people why no one bothered to even get an umbrella?"

"Sorry Chapman. I don't have time to be scouring weather forecasts."

I'm about to retort with something sarcastic when some unforgiving motorbike riding asshole zooms through a puddle of rain and does away with the remainder of any dry parts we still had.

"What in the fuck?" Nicky cries out.

"Hey inconsiderate asshole! I've got your license plate!" Poussey adds angrily.

To our utmost surprise motorbike person slows down in response and stops a few blocks ahead of us.

"Oh shit…I didn't mean the asshole part." Poussey whispers regrettably as we all watched the person kill the engine and expertly dismount the bike.

I'm not going to lie - I've seen way too many road rage videos on YouTube to only hazard a guess how this was going to end. So when an all black leathered person is approaching us, their helmet visor reflecting the mildly weary expressions on our collective faces, it makes us swallow any remarks we had, _very_ quickly.

But then I recognise that cocky swagger from anywhere, and that dark hair cascading from beneath that helmet and it has me widening my eyes in complete and utter surprise.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I manage to exclaim in part horror, part happiness.

Poussey and Nicky cock their heads at me, their faces schooled into expressions of tentative admiration and semi-confusion.

"Wow Chapman. You sure have a death wish." Poussey hisses at me.

"I don't know either of you people." Nicky declares emphatically. "I'm not involved in this at all."

I'm bothered by the fact I've just been drenched in grimy New York water by none other than my dark haired heathen of a friend than any of these guys' remarks.

"Such warm reception that always tugs at the heartstrings." Alex declares mildly. She removes her helmet in one elegant sweep, before running a hand through her hair and smoothing it out. "I think it's all the _fucks_ that make it so romantic or is it the the delivery of it? It's difficult to decide."

I'm too engrossed by how renegade and decidedly sexy this combination of actions were and so in an ode to my weak self - already start forgiving her in my head.

I mean it was quite warm and sticky today anyway, a good amount of cool puddle water has sorted me right out.

"What are you-"

She cuts me off with a blistering kiss that has possibly sent me into a different dimension, a dimension where mere kisses could render someone catatonic and possibly delirious. I'm both at the moment, and then I remember I also have lips which can return the favour, so I do. Kiss her.

Right in this New York street with some of my work colleagues watching on in awe. Before it turns beyond PG rated, we eventually pull back, my heart slowly coming down from its speed of light drumming, having returned from that aforementioned dimension, and it suddenly feels as though I've been reinvigorated.

The rain that bothered me so much has been reducing to nothing.

Fuck the rain - I'm having a _very_ gay _Notebook_ moment here.

"Uh, Piper?"

I whip around, having almost forgotten Poussey and Nicky were still here, both of them looking spectacularly shocked.

I give them a sheepish shrug of the shoulders, fixing them with a _who'd have thought it_ sort of look.

"Do you know her?" Poussey tentatively asks.

I can't help but raise my eyebrows at this question.

Yes, because I normally let hot strangers on powerful bikes kiss me senseless.

Thankfully Alex answers for me, "She knows me 100% apparently." She looks back at me and winks. "Piper can definitely vouch for that."

Nicky seems to have recovered from her temporary mutism and pats me hard on the back. "Chapman, you bagged yourself quite the person."

"Thanks, Nicky." I murmur sincerely.

But then she seems to retract and instead takes a sudden step backwards, her eyes flickering with new found surprise. "Hang on a minute…this isn't some weird escort agreement you guys are participating in?"

"What?"

"She tipped you $250 dollars." She furtively glances at Alex. "Yeah, I'm not going to forget a face like that in a hurry." And she looks at me again. "How many hours is she getting with you for that amount?"

"Nicky are you being serious now?"

"I have to ask."

"Dont worry, champ. This is all of my own accord. We're both consenting adults who happened to like each other a great deal." Alex blithely responds just as she fixes me with a look so intense, I'm about an inch away from climbing her like a tree. Just to test my discipline even further she adds in a low whisper. "Too damn much I think."

"I think this might be our cue to go." Poussey softly interrupts, nudging Nicky in the sides.

Nicky throws me a smirk. "Chapman, I have so much love for you right now, it's unreal." She fixes Alex with an apologetic face. "Not like _that_ of course. In a completely non-romantic, non-sexually teasing and definitely in a non- I want to fuck the living daylights out of you. Absolutely none of that."

Alex turns to look at me, as if I have any control over Nicky and her less than couth mouth.

"Thanks for clarifying that with such fervid detail - that was both so intensely evocative and not at all disturbing." Alex says with exaggerated verbosity. "It really drives the point home."

"My pleasure."

"Well it's nice meeting you all but unfortunately there's only one extra person who can ride Angie with me."

(For the record I'm letting that blatant innuendo pass)

"I'm sure you're all great people." Alex continues. "And I do apologise for the splashing. My eyes must have wondered off the road to something much more interesting and visually appealing." She punctuates this with a possessive rub over my shoulders catching my eye and puckering her lips at me.

I'm on actual cloud nine right now.

With an exaggerated theatrical bow, Alex announces with mock-formality. "Milady's ride awaits."

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* * *

 _AN/ Honestly, these two and their shenanigans_

 _Relatively more shorter chapter. But will update with the next few days. I promise._

 _Hope you've enjoyed the read!_


	6. a sky full of stars

6\. a sky full of stars

* * *

 _AN/ Apologies all round._

 _(As always, perspective is Piper's)_

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[alex/atwood] Have I ever told you how insanely boring board meetings are? I'm practically fermenting in a pool of boredom right now.

[p/chapman] Some of us have real jobs, hard graft and getting our hands dirty. No time for boredom

[alex/atwood] You work in a high end restaurant in central new york and the worst you have to handle is a lukewarm bottle of Pinot Grigio and caviar-stained towels. Do not take that high ground, Piper Chapman.

[p/chapman] what's the weather like up there in your ivory tower?

[alex/atwood] cold and lonely :( need you to make an appearance and warm the place up for me

[p/chapman] All I would do is switch the radiator on and bring you a blanket. Should warm you up in no time

[alex/atwood] that's not the route I was going down. Spoilsport

[p/chapman] I'm there in spirit though

[alex/atwood] hang on. Can't touch her...can't kiss her. Pisspoor attempt, spirit Piper

[p/chapman] Sorry. 10/10 for effort though

[alex/atwood] what are you wearing now?

[p/chapman] we are so not going there. Also it's overly weird sexting with that corporate name of yours. I mean is this even you? Or am I actually talking to some middle-aged creepster?"

[alex/atwood] I would have sent you photographic evidence but my co-partner is currently throwing me daggers so probs shouldn't

[p/chapman] oh is this the infamous jack? (evil eyes). He better keep his distance or I'll have to smack him down

[alex/atwood] you know I'm always so turned on by that possessive streak of yours...

[p/chapman] well you can turn yourself off now...gotta go

[alex/atwood] again...now oddly turned on by your assertiveness

[p/chapman] stop acting like a broken light switch and get to work

[alex/atwood] (blows kiss)

[p/chapman] (catches it and aggressively throws it back)

[alex/atwood] I'm hurt...gonna have to punish you tonight. clothes on the floor when I get back.

* * *

"Chapman! In here now!"

If someone could ever quite literally jump out of their skin - it would have been me at the exact moment Red's voice boomed into my ear.

I also seemed to have suddenly developed lightening speed reflexes, because that laptop lid was slammed down in the fastest time it had ever been.

I whip my head back, embarrassment no doubt flashing across my face like a neon sign. Red was staring at me with those observant hazel eyes that always saw and knew too much. Sulking, I refuse to entertain the thought of just how long she'd been towering behind me or rather how much of my _you've got mail-esque_ conquests with Alex she had read.

I'm hoping that considering English is her second language she hadn't been able to get very far. But then I remembered a smidgeon of information — apparently they taught English very well in Russia. I gulped, forcing myself to turn away from her deep-set glare.

There's something about working in the food-service industry that had turned me into a near savant in reading people and figuring out the meaning behind their micro-tics. It might be the slight upturning of a nose to signify disapproval of a meal, or the long drained sigh when the wait had been too long. It was a learned art — possessing the ability to hone in on these subtle expressions and react accordingly.

But that skill came to a grinding halt when it came to Red aka The Boss. A stern look could mean she was about to punish you severely, or maybe her reaction to winning a restaurant of the year award or a direct response to standing on a piece of Lego. It was all the same.

So puzzled and equally worried I follow Red into her office, and stand right beside the door. It's to ensure my immediate escape should things get heated and/or physical.

Don't get me wrong, Red wouldn't place a finger on us…except for that time Nicky had burnt about fifty pounds of steak she'd forgotten in the oven. She'd been given a good wring of the ear.

But right now, a blood vessel I had never spotted was pulsating just above Red's left eyebrow, and were those her nostrils just flaring?

I find myself inching closer and closer he door, my hands already twitching to grab for the door handle.

She finally speaks, "Piper Chapman, you have brains, no?"

I frown as I turn the question over. I mean biology would say yes to that quite easily, but I surmise that's not the answer Red is looking for.

"I don't understand, Boss?"

"That thing. The pink fleshy mass that weighs about three pounds that is supposed to be occupying your shiny skull." She growls. "Something missing in many people these days. Do you have it?"

My face is probably the epitome of mixed fear and confusion. "Uh yes."

"You want this partnership, yes?"

I stand up a little straighter. "Of course, Boss. I've never wanted anything more in my life."

My heart's pounding in my chest. Is this the I'm getting fired speech? Fuck.

"And do you understand the reason I can't give it to your right now?"

"I know we've had problems with attracting more numbers…meaning we can't expand until popularity increases."

She nods her head in approval, as though I've finally given the right answer. I lean back against the door in relief, maybe I'm not getting fired after all.

"And what do you think the solution to that problem is?"

"It's expensive but better advertising."

My eyes drop to my hands and then back at Red again, whose face looks like she's on the verge of having a full on stroke. I'm torn between calling for an ambulance or getting the hell out of dodge.

"Okay…" She hisses. "So why in the sweet fuck did you not _tell_ me that you're sleeping with THE Alex Atwood from motherfucking Excelsior & Co?"

I'm not entirely sure how long I've been frozen, staring with a sort of open-mouthed horror just as my three pound of a brain starts juddering at full steam.

Is she kidding? Like, is this some sort of Russian thing where you're supposed to immediately inform your employer of your sexual relations?

 _Hey Red, just an FYI. You know that obnoxiously good-looking diner from a while back? You know the one who left that ridiculously expensive tip? Yeah, her and I we do the sex. So about those accounts?_

Instead I mumble, "I don't understand?"

"You don't understand?" She flings her hands up in the air. "She's the biggest _advertising_ exec in New York and you didn't think to maybe, _maybe_ slip our name to her in the hope Haven could be publicised by them?"

Pause.

Let's dissect that down a little further.

When in this actual millennia would I _ever_ have stopped and considered my professional interests when I'm with Alex? Has Red even met her? Does she know I basically transform into a bumbling illiterate mess when I'm put within two feet of Alex? Does she also know that I'm generally screaming Alex's name out during throes of ecstasy than be kindly asking questions over whether she could consider adding Haven to her portfolio?

That's a giant no on all counts.

"I'm sorry…it never even crossed my mind, Boss."

She stares at me in complete ludicrousness, which is so ironic because her next words are just…

"Our recipes could be streamed during the SuperBowl breaks, our banner side by side with the McDonalds logo in Times Square…we could even have our brand engraved onto the Statue of fucking Liberty."

I cock my head quizzically…I'm leaning more toward calling for an ambulance - I'm sure stroke can manifest as incomprehensible speech, because next I wouldn't be surprised if Red wanted Haven drilled onto the moon surface for the world to see — and hey, let's not stop there; the Hollywood signs looks a bit bare without our name printed across it — fuck that, let's replace the thing entirely.

I'm almost prudently wanting to add Alex is a company director not a fucking God.

(Her God like tendencies in getting me to climax in less than a minute may disprove that particular point, but that's another matter entirely)

"Chapman, have you not heard of networking? Sense of business?"

I studied History of Art and English. Of course I fucking haven't.

Cut-throat business was all but an abstract concept to me.

"Yeah I think so."

"Don't come back without a goddamn deal or your days are numbered here."

Did she just blackmail me? Did she just?

She's nodding to my silent question. "Next time you see your lover, you remember what I told you."

I think that's my cue to go.

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"Let's see what's on the menu tonight."

Alex leans over me and swipes the recipe book off the counter.

We were at hers. This was after I had insisted I would showcase my culinary skills to her. My promise hadn't gone very far, considering I had forgotten to buy over half of the ingredients for my so called dinner party. Ne'er a bigger fail than me. It's my middle name.

"So for starters we have Greek yoghurt." Alex looks up at me. "A very intricate and complex dish, do you think you can manage?"

I wasn't exaggerating when I said I forgot most things. Luckily Alex didn't seem to care that much.

Also, it's been two whole days and I still hadn't broached the Haven/Excelsior situation with Alex. It's not something that took precedence right now, so Red and her threats could wait.

Alex covertly starts stroking my legs. "Hmmm yogurt; just like your legs, smooth, pale and easy to spread."

I brush her hands away, too shamed to engage. "Where did you get that from? The book of failed puns?"

"No smile?" She sits at the kitchen island, elbows resting on the counter. "I had to practice that line in the mirror a fair few times."

"I'm having a grocery related breakdown here, no time for jokes." I sigh miserably.

"We can always get takeout, just relax."

"I can't…not when all I remembered is fucking yogurt and olive oil."

"Yogurt and olive oil sounds delicious, but I'm gonna have to pass. Chinese or Italian? Your pick.

"Italian."

"Sorted." She makes a grab for her jacket and keys, places a peck on my cheek, squeezes my ass and walks out of the door. "Don't burn the apartment down while I'm gone!"

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"What exactly are you doing?"

It's the second time, I've nearly succeeded in leaving my skin. I nearly topple out of the chair, having to grab hold of the table to stop me doing so. I hadn't heard Alex come, nor had I noticed she was standing behind me, peering over my shoulders.

"Nothing." I shoot out, just as I slammed the second laptop in as many days down hard.

"It looked more than nothing, Piper."

Alex circumvents around me and opens her laptop back up again.

We're met with an Excel spreadsheet of Excelsior's client list, and to make matters worse, I must have accidentally opened this month's account data as well, because that was staring back at us as well.

When people had bad days, they called it going pear-shaped. When my days were bad, it was an expired pear festering in a heap of its own juices. So much worse.

"I can explain." I stammer, scrambling for words. Because genuinely it's not what it looked like, contrary to what people said — I had become bored with my own presence, and Alex had texted me she was stuck in traffic and would be another half hour, so naturally I did what everyone else does, which was to surf the net to kill time.

It's not my fault, I maximised the wrong window, which happened to be the client list, and _not_ my fault when curiosity got the better of me, compelling me to skim the list for the names of our nearest competitors. All perfectly innocent.

I'm unnerved by how coldly different Alex looks. There's none of that easygoing smile or glittering of eyes, instead her mouth was cast into a thin line and eyes darkened with accusation.

Oh shit. _Piper Chapman incoming, boarding flight:_ _get me the fuck out of here_

 _"_ Alex, it's not what it looks like."

"You're snooping through my laptop. What else is it supposed to _look_ like?"

"I was reading the news. And this popped up and I guess curiosity got the better of me."

"I've been curious to know what colour your underwear is but does that mean I go trawling through your panty drawer?"

"I'm sorry okay. I was being stupid." I wait for her to break into a content smile, dismiss all this with a wave of the hand — but Alex whirls toward the laptop and starts pressing buttons, scanning windows and scrolling through large texts. "What else have you been doing on here?" She tilts her head back at me, eyes blazing with forceful demand but turns her head back at the screen again before I could even say anything, and continues clicking through computer files.

 _Last call for boarding... Last call._

Confused, I scramble to my feet, pushing my chair back, totally unsettled by Alex and her strange over the top behaviour.

"Why are you getting so defensive? It's not like you've got the code for the US nuclear programme in there." I mutter, trying to dampen the sudden hostility with my badly placed humour.

"So because I don't hold classified information, it makes it okay for you to go through my stuff?"

"Alex." I take a few steps toward her. "What's the big deal even?"

Alex just huffs with derision, busying herself with placing the laptop back into its case.

My voice turns into an apologetic murmur. I'm suddenly hit with a wave of anxiety, this is not how I wanted my evening to go, and so I find myself filling the heavy silence shrouding us with whatever I could. "Look, I just wanted to see which companies were part of your clientele…I guess now is the best time as any…Red…my boss, wants me to drop our name to you, to see whether you could add our restaurant to your list."

Okay. That sounded about ten times worse than it had in my head, and Alex seems to agree because she narrows her eyes, head whirling at me, her gaze fixed with mine - trapping it. 'What?"

 _What do you mean I can't fly? I'm a frequent flier of flight get me the fuck out of here. I have the fucking air miles to prove it._

She makes a show of placing her glasses in her hair. "Let me get this straight…so you want me to advertise your restaurant? Was this before or after we got together?"

My heart ricochets against my chest, so hard, I'm thinking it's going to fall out here, and land right between our feet. "Is that what you really think?"

"I don't know what to think anymore."

I'm struggling to release my words, because of all the directions this conversation was headed, this one was not one I could have foreseen. "I actually can't believe you would even imply such a thing."

Alex doesn't seem to be listening. "Is this _thing_ we have just one big elaborate plan in expanding your business? I've seen your boss, she looks the type to devour anything in her path." Alex looks at me with renewed disgust. "What am I to you, Piper? Just a business tool to forward your career, who happens to give great sex?"

 _Flight cancelled until further notice. Ferocious hurricanes of anger to blame_

My quiet hurt and apologetic stance began to disappear, slowly replaced with a simmering and righteous anger. "You're making it sound like I've let you fuck me for business purposes only."

"You can't blame me for thinking it."

That statement might as well have slapped me squarely in the face. "I distinctly remember you're the one who was knocking on my door at all kinds of crazy o'clock, kept turning up at my place of work. That's not my doing, Alex. So you can cut that bullshit right there."

I take a few steps back, too hurt and angry to continue this conversation any longer. "And fuck you for thinking I'd be that kind of a person."

Alex rounds the table, looking all incredulous. "You're telling _me_ to go fuck myself? After I've _caught_ you going through my business accounts…and you've miraculously turned this into my fault?" She laughs, all patronising. "Congratulations, you've just done the impossible." And she starts clapping. None of the fun, well-meaning kind of clap but the slow, sanctimonious kind.

Her audacity to assume I would steal her pesky business secrets was too far-flung of an idea for me properly come to terms with, and who did she think she was?

"I'm not even going to respond to that, real mature."

"Do you ever think that you _might_ be in the wrong?"

My eyes burn with fury. "The only goddamn reason I came to yours right now, was because you asked me to. And instead I'm being treated like I'm some sort of dirty criminal."

Alex crosses her arms and simply scoffs, which enrages me even further. "I'm surprised you can even talk with that giant weight of an ego you carry around all the time."

I snatch up my phone up from the counter, and start putting my jacket on. I'm too erratic and riled up to even figure it how to put my arms through the sleeves. "Newsflash, not everything's about you…you fucking arrogant asshole."

Alex seems to realise I'm actually being serious, "Where do you think you're going? I'm not finished yet."

Alex follows my hasty exit to the door and damn her long legs - because she gets there before me and blocks herself in front of the door.

"That's a shame, because I'm getting away from you and your bullshit." I huff angrily. "Don't make me push you of the way. I fucking mean it, Alex."

"God, you think you're something else, don't you?"

We're glaring at each other, face to face, noses flaring, breathing coming out in short clipped bursts. There's a lot of anger sizzling the air between us.

I have to draw in a deep breath, suddenly feeling as though there wasn't enough oxygen getting in my lungs, my pulse thrumming low and fast. We regard each other wordlessly - too long for it to be something simply innocuous.

And it's kind of fucked up…but right now my right hand wants to punch Alex in in her million dollar face and my left wants to push her back against the door and unleash my mouth against hers. I've never been one to condone or even relish in the rough or hate variety of sexy times but there's always a first for everything.

Thankfully, I'm ambidextrous so I do neither instead, I roughly push her away from the door, making space for my quick exit. Alex doesn't really resist, nor say anything in response.

"Go fuck yourself, Alex."

With that lingering remark, I stomp out of the apartment, slamming the door as hard as I can on my way out and storm back to mine.

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* * *

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Sixteen orders.

Three birthday tables, and a raging altercation between a married couple which had escalated into the wife pouring a glass of wine over her non-plussed other half. I think that was the last anniversary they had celebrated together. Which conveniently brings me to my own relationship woes. Alex and I didn't even have an anniversary to celebrate, well that was until Target started selling happy quarter-year cards.

Fuck. I couldn't even buy that until next week.

But there was no next week.

"Order ready for table five, Chapman! It's been ready for over half a century." Poussey shouts from behind the cookers.

I glance up and mutter, "Yeah sure."

I've been walking around and going about work with my head stuck in a heavy fog. All morning I've been furiously rationalising my actions from last night.

 _Of course I wasn't at fault. Of course Alex was the wrongful one - her just being the self-centred person she always was._

I trundle toward my table; full of screaming kids and spent moms trying to discipline their offspring. I'm tempted to pour the tomato sauce over their heads, probably a much more effective way in getting them to shut the fuck up. Didn't they know I'm trying to wallow in grotesque amounts of self-pity? God, kids these days.

I unceremoniously offload everything onto the table, not even caring when one of the moms yelps when a stray bread roll lands in her lap.

I head back to the kitchen, just as new thoughts start bulldozing my previous ones flat to the ground. Because now dammit, excerpts of Alex making me breakfast in bed with a fully functioning toaster make their way through, next I'm being tortured with an image of her fondly smiling at me wearing that off-green NYU sweatshirt she loved. (she wears it ironically)...(don't ask)

I fumble for my phone, my finger an inch away from answering her maybe thousandth voicemail or write back to her thousandth message, but then I'm justly reminded of her know-it-all bullshit, so then my hand spools back to its rightful place.

"Didn't know the forecast was going to be thunder and lightning - otherwise I would have brought my umbrella."

This time my groans are audible, my feet already carrying me away from the source of that voice.

"Your face looks like thunder, Chapman. Who spat in your cereal this morning?"

"Nichols, not today."

"Has this something to do with our motorbike-riding tipper extraordinaire?"

Alex didn't deserve any of those adjectives, in my books she was still a fucking jerk, and also I really didn't want to be here.

I make a show of cleaning plates, "What's it to you?"

"Tay's told me every time you glance at your phone - your face looks like it's about to roll off your neck."

"What?" I twist around, indignant.

"I mimicked your sexting face, and she said it was definitely not that one."

"My sexting face?" I should _not_ be goading her but I needed to know.

"Imagine the face of a baby just when their toys have been taken away and superimpose that over the face of someone whose just been told they've stood on shit - barefooted."

"That's my sexting face?" I hiss affronted.

"No." Nicky makes a face, "That's the one you've been making all of today." She jumps on the counter. "So spill the beans."

I hesitate, I really want to get this whole shit-fest off my chest, more so just to be told I was right.

"It's complicated."

"So is algebra, but there's always a simple explanation."

"My fucking life is not an algebra equation." I suddenly exclaim.

"So what's the deal?"

"We argued over something stupid…" I shake my head. "And now we're not speaking."

Nicky's tone is laden with mockery, "Let me just get my tiny violin out and start playing a rendition of your life must be so hard and difficult when you have to decide between fucking her on a Tuesday or after you've made up the following Friday."

I throw her my dirtiest look ever.

"Hang on, hang on." Nicky jostles me "I think I can feel a tear making it's way out."

MY tone is filled with derision. "Just throw yourself into the nearest trashcan, Nichols"

"Dude." She sits up and gives me her most serious face. "In all seriousness, that's how most of my relationships never turn into anything but short-lived flings. I balk at the first sight of confrontation. Go figure."

A rare glimpse of earnestness from Nicky feels as though I should be recording this for future reference. "Thanks for that... even if most of it felt like you were just insulting me.

"You're welcome."

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Still miserable, hurt and brimming with self-sympathy, I walk to the back of the kitchen, my steps as sullen as my mood.

Alex had texted me. I ignored it. Cue more anger at myself.

I step outside via the back-door that led into the alleyway lined with waste containers and discarded carton boxes. I'm barely through the first day of my so called relationship breakup and already it felt as though I've lived through weeks and weeks of it.

The sky was inky dark, just a few white lights struggling to shine through the thick grey clouds. I crane my head at the skies, giving it my best sad, far-away stare. I'm really embracing my role of the scorned wife tonight. I've been abandoned and slung in this situation, I might as well go fully out.

I'm knocked out of my pseudo-sadness when a car turns into the street, nearly blinding me with its powerful halogen headlights.

Peering through half-covered eyes, I watch it come to a smooth halt a few metres away from me. The passenger door opens and a shadowy figure slowly steps out, and starts speaking of their own accord. "I don't believe in God but there's something about solitary star-gazing that always makes me feel so spiritual and divine. It's the inner Virgo in me." The disembodied voice carries on speaking just as they stepped into the sphere of illumination from the overhead lighting. "Does it make you feel that way too?"

And just like the beginning of a play, the light reveals the presence of my former lover - looking every inch the lover part.

God help me.

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I full on Hollywood-style gasp: the theatrical hands over mouth and widening of the eyes thing, "What the hell are you doing here?"

But then I remember I'm supposed to be angry and hurt, so match my inflection just so and repeat, "What are you _doing_ here?"

Because that's what I am: hurt and angry and most of all royally pissed off…and not at all star-struck by Alex and her leathered up body. _Of course_ not.

Virgos evidently had a thing for stars - well I'm a Gemini and it seems _I_ had a thing for dark-haired, bespectacled ass-folk who had ego issues. Definitely something I had missed in the astrology section of this week's New York Times.

"I've come to see you of course." She lights a cigarette, eyeing me from above her glasses, like I'm nuts for even questioning her uninvited presence.

I glare at her. _She's_ the one who's nuts. Not me. She's as nutty as they come. More nutty than a Snickers bar.

"What exactly are you doing here?"

"Oh, I was just in the area and thought to pop my head in." She says with a brazen wave of the hand.

"In your blacked out chauffeur driven Mercedes and parked in a half-lit backstreet? You couldn't have been more subtle even if you tried."

"You're lucky the helicopter is out for repairs so had to make to do with this instead." Alex glances back, her lips segueing into a grin.

I'm finding it really hard to stay angry at her.

You _do_ know that the last thing I said was to go fuck yourself?"

"Oh, it hadn't been a loving goodbye? My bad."

"And that you were…are an arrogant asshole?"

"Heard it loud and clear, unfortunately."

"And that we're not talking terms?"

She closes the gap between us, walking toward me with graceful long strides, before she softly speaks, "And that's what I've come to fix." She waves at her chauffeur to get back into the car. Alex throws the cigarette away, and lifts her gaze to meet mine. This time she does away with the dark humour - her painted on smile straightening into a serious line, the twinkling in her eyes vanishing. "Look Piper. I'm sorry okay?" She glances back, before looking at me again. "I was stupid and rash and hell out of order…so I'm here to apologise for my wrongdoings and general bullshit."

My throat suddenly narrows itself, my heart repositioning itself close to my chest wall, as though it was somehow trying to reach out. "Why the completely over the top reaction then?"

Alex runs a hand through her hair, letting out a weary sigh. "I had a fling with a woman I met at a work-related gala eons ago. I liked her, and I thought she liked me. It turns out she liked my business plans more."

I can't help but notice the still lingering hurt swimming in Alex's eyes and it has me fervently wishing I could wipe it away.

"She siphoned all the data from my computer with a USB stick she brought when she came round mine one night…so you can understand my overreaction, which obviously still doesn't excuse anything."

Alex falls silent, her hands clasped tightly in front, constantly fidgeting with her knuckles, weaving her fingers in and out of each other.

"That's where I must have gone wrong…should've brought a USB stick with me. Rookie error." I softly joke.

"Total computer newbie." Alex chuckled, a trace of hard-won relief rolled within it. She turns serious again, tentatively tracing her fingers over my hand. "I figured I'd be pretty dumb to throw away what we have. It's honestly worth too much for me."

I swallow back a sudden lump. "Me too."

Alex squeezes my hands and laughs softly. "Me too what? To being dumb or?"

"To both."

Silence breaks in. It seems lightyears before Alex speaks again. "Am I officially forgiven or what?" She grins. "Or do I have to grovel some more?"

"You're officially forgiven, you idiot." I arch forwards and place my lips over hers, sealing my statement with a soft kiss. I couldn't help it but I throw my arms around hers, bringing us together for a hug.

We're still hugging each other tightly when I whisper into Alex's ears. "Okay but when I finish work you _have_ to take me for a spin in that to die for limo."

Eventually breaking apart, Alex leans back her lips dancing with mirth. "I thought you'd never ask."

I glance back at the sleek car with its equally sharp chauffeur at the helm and smile. "Was this Plan B in case the sorrys hadn't worked? Entice me with your riches?"

"How else? And if _that_ hadn't worked I would have lured you in with the mention of the chilled in-house champagne. Specially reserved for the travelling lady."

"You really know your way into my liquor blessed heart."

"The mixed margarita is already waiting for you at mine."

I scoff lightheartedly. "So you knew I was going to forgive you?"

"Nope - I just covered for all eventualities. If you said no, I would still have plenty of great alcohol to drown my sorrows in."

"Smartass."

"Some would say I'm a forward thinker."

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* * *

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"Did you really mean that?"

"Mean what?"

I was sat on the floor of Alex's bedroom, my back facing the bed, neatly nestled between her legs. She'd been busy braiding my hair for the last fifteen minutes and doing a fucking bad job at it too. For something with so many girlish connotations as braiding, Alex sure was keen to embrace that side of hers. I'd conceded though, clearly I didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise and so let her continue the assault on my hair.

"You know...when you called me your girlfriend?"

She stops and leans over me to reach for her cigarette. I tilt my head all the way back, watching her light it.

"You're going to break your neck if you keep doing that."

"I don't care. Just answer the question."

"Of course I meant it. What else would we be?"

"I don't know, friends with benefits?"

"Hmmm." Alex murmurs thoughtfully. "That would imply that everything about you is entirely beneficial which isn't strictly true. I mean you're possibly the most Parkslope narcissist I've ever met and don't even get me started on the dire state of your music collection. I would've asked you to give it away to charity but I'm not sure they accept noise pollution." She looks down at me, biting her lips with held in laughter. "So I had to disregard the friends with benefits label almost _immediately_." Alex manages to say all of this through a barrage of light punches.

"How about just friends then?"

Alex schools her face into one of disagreement "Do we make friendship bracelets for each other?"

"No."

"What have you named me in your phone contact list?"

"Uh just Alex?"

"No emoji hearts or some other sickly variation of my name?"

"No, of course not." I look at her quizzically. " _Just_ Alex."

"Oh." Alex stops short, her eyes flicking away from me.

"What?" I fix her with a scrupulous stare. "Give me your phone! What the hell have you put me down as?"

I rush to my feet and grab for her phone rested on the bedside table. Alex goes after me but luckily I had a few feet head-start and swipe it just before she makes a lunge for it.

It's password locked but I manage to guess it on the first try: _0000_

I knew Alex was too lazy to bother with something else.

" _GreedyAsshole1_ " I read out loud. "I'm offended."

"No that's my landlord dumbass." She says between puffs of smoke. "Keep scrolling."

" _GreedyAsshole2_?"

"Those are the Internet people." Alex sighs brazenly.

" _GreedyAsshole3_?" I'm having to hold in my laughter. "How many assholes do you know that do not include yourself and more importantly how do you remember who is who?"

"What can I say?" She flicks the cigarette ash into the tray. "I must have been blessed with photographic memory."

I keep scrolling, finding unlikely entertainment in her contacts list; my eyes catching on some very colourful names. But then my fun is cut short when my eyes hone in on one particular name.

" _Trashgirl?"_ I hold the phone out accusingly. "What the fuck, Alex? I didn't make that much of a deal about your trash issues for you to amount me to that?"

"Relax, that's one of the girls I went to high-school with." Alex simply shrugs as though that was the whole explanation, even though it literally added nothing to my question.

"And?"

"And I was forced to attend my high school reunion a year back, and we must have got on really well because we exchanged number, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what her name was so went with her most memorable quality." Alex side eyes me conspiratorially. "She was the other kind of trash."

Two important things we have to lay ground on:

1\. Alex was _never_ forced into anything.

2\. Why am I feeling an odd sense of jealousy toward a non-threatening ex-high-schooler nicknamed _trash girl?_

"Did you keep in contact with her?" I ask in my most airy and non-questioning question ever.

"Did I sleep with her? If what that's what you're asking, then no." Alex throws me a haughty grin.

Acting all indignant, I purse my lips and respond pertly, "I wasn't."

(but it would've answered my next question)

Vaguely reassured, I carry on scrolling, actually concerned for whatever label I've been reduced to myself. I mean the possibilities were virtually endless.

"Oh my god, how slow are you?" Alex snatched the phone out of my hand, scrolled some further and pointed the screen at me. "There just _Piper"_

I pretend not to be overly relieved and render my face into a whatever expression.

"Anyway, so back to relationship labels; we're not friends or ones with benefits…so I went with the more apt label of _girlfriends."_

 _"_ And you didn't _even_ consider neighbours from hell?" I laugh.

"Although _more_ accurate, too many syllables. I figured it had to be something short and snappy, so girlfriends will have to do for now." Alex lifts her gaze, her eyes warm and full of mirth. "Well that's until I think of an alternative label."

She resumes her braiding, but I've had enough.

 _Apparently_ we're girlfriends now and I'm pretty sure braiding is a best friends forever type pastime. I trace my hands over Alex's arms behind me, and I'm suddenly in the mood for more girlfriend-y type activities.

"Hey! I'm not finished yet!" Alex exclaims when I suddenly scramble to my feet and turn around, where I briefly catch my newly made hairdo in the mirror. I have to bite back an actual guffaw. I'm trying hard in keeping my expression neutral, even as a wave of laughter tugs my insides, hard.

I mean the hair was so atrociously bad it actually looked good? Which is an explicable paradox I don't think I can adequately explain. That's if Alex was aiming for the Miss Trunchbull from Matilda look or even worse; circa 2001 Jennifer Aniston (the bad year)

"Thank you, but I'm afraid braiding is not on the list of things that _girlfriends_ do." I shake my head vigorously as I said this. My extension of that answer comes in the way of me climbing onto Alex's lap who just stares down at me expectantly, watching me straddle her just as I begin unbuttoning her shirt.

We've barely been wearing our clothes for all of twenty minutes and I mildly wonder why we even bothered getting dressed at all.

In my defence I _have_ managed to keep my panties on for more than twenty minutes in any given twenty four hours - so I'm sorry - I deserve _some_ ounce of recognition for exercising even the tiniest amount of discipline, thank you very much.

I start placing kisses all over her neck, delicate ghost of kisses that served to make my intentions very clear. Alex shifts under my weight and I can practically feel her getting turned on; her quickening heartbeat thrumming under my lips, pulse point flickering away erratically at the hollow of her throat.

I'm oddly proud of my doings.

"I feel like I have to properly try out this new label of ours." I draw my face into one of deep thought and roll the words around my tongue. "And I'm positive braiding definitely isn't part of it."

"It's not?" Alex murmurs amused.

"A _big_ definite no." I cock my head to one side. "I mean just talking even, is _such_ a platonic activity. Absolutely nothing girlfriend-centric about it."

I do away with my own top and unclasp Alex's bra, throwing it somewhere behind me before I resumed my kisses. My hands are lost in her hair, the glasses knocked off carelessly. Alex grabs hold of me and lies back onto the bed, taking me with her, our chests pressed together. Mouths find each other again, the kisses even more sizzling than the previous few hundred occasions.

"Hmmm. I definitely agree with you there. Talking is pretty overrated."

"Sitting on an actual bed and just talk?" I scoff theatrically. "That's criminal in my books."

"Offensive."

"Downright _rude."_

Alex was hot (we kinda already knew that) but I'm talking new levels of _fuck I've just burned myself with a goddamn iron_ hot or _I've just got blown into a star about to enter its supernova phase and I'm conveniently lost within it._ The good hot kind, if there ever was one. I could give you every single _hot_ analogy I have, but we'd be here all day, and Alex is sort of of sexing me up at the moment so...

Her skin is flushed and burning in all the right ways, sending me into my usual frenzy of wanting more more _more._ I'd always clocked relatively low on the Kinsey scale but after seeing her in that particular choice of clothes or lack thereof now I am now a higher dimension of gay that no scale could conceivably contain.

I drew my head back for a millisecond, just to catch my breath but Alex takes advantage, craning forward and thrusting her tongue into my mouth, her hands roaming voraciously over the fabric of my bra. And what had always seemed underrated as to its appeal, now made absolute, perfect sense. It was a precedent. A promise. What Alex was doing with my mouth and lips was what she'd be doing elsewhere. Jesus Christ.

"Jeans or bra, choose."

"But I still have my shoes on." I protest.

"I'll take care of that." Alex says smoothly her eyes drilling into mine.

"But they're strap ons."

"Kinky."

"That's _not_ what I meant." My face must've turned into its usual shade of scarlet when I suddenly reminisce over Polly's rather intrusive question of myself and Alex's Fifty Shades of Grey parallels, particularly the part where Alex may or may not be into all the kinky stuff.

All that is disintegrated when Alex's wanton gaze captures mine with such sudden intensity, it has me rethinking all of the aforementioned.

 _Fifty grades of getting laid_ more like. And we all know which one I'd rather read or experience in this instance.

"You still have both your jeans and bra on."

"Sorry, I wasn't aware I was being timed."

"Your sarcasm never fails to turn me on."

I'm about to roll my eyes, when I'm suddenly hit with a wicked streak. Ruffling out of my jeans I pull back from the bed and stand up, surveying my would be conquests with nefarious abandon. "You know it's about time _I'm_ the one who takes the lead in these strictly non-platonic activities of ours."

"Oh yeah?" Alex chuckled darkly.

"Totally."

I take my jolly ol' time in removing Alex's jeans. Her breath shuddered out, the cocky glean in her eyes quickly replaced with a vulnerable want when she realised I was completely and deadly serious. I crawl onto the bed, draping myself over her again, raining warm kisses all over neck and jaw: it's my starting point for the eventual southwards journey I was going to embark on.

"You know." I let out an ensconced sigh. "I've always had a thing for things that come in twos. I think it's the inner maths whizz kid in me."

With slow deliberate moves I trace the outline of Alex's nipple with the tip of my tongue, suckling and lapping away at my heart's content, languidly alternating between the two. My mouth is quickly replaced by my more deft fingers who continued to massage and knead.

"I can't hear any cocky comebacks. Are you okay there?" (I couldn't resist. I mean for god's sake Alex _fucking_ Vause had been rendered speechless. I need all the rapturous applause I could get for achieving this near impossible feat)

Of course, I don't wait for an answer, taking Alex's very audible gulp and taut neck muscles as one instead, and so I continue my descent into my newly found devilish behaviour.

My hands slowly ran down her legs, then back up again, casually avoiding her inner thighs.

"Piper…" Alex's breathing was all ragged and laborious. I could only imagine the amount of willpower it took for Alex not to push me off and devour me like a piece of chocolate cake. My heart swells with so much pride.

I do my best seductive growl and abruptly place my hands over her abdomen, lazily tracing my fingers over her navel — every now and again letting them slip under the band of her panties — never staying there for long before returning to more safer grounds.

Of course, Alex was probably pushed into another dimension, her chest rising and falling in rapid progression. "So help me god…if you don't fucking do this. I'm going to-"

"So aggressive." I purred. "Just relax and take it all in." I punctuated this with popping my fingers in my mouth and very deliberately lapping my tongue over them before tracing them from her navel down, leaving a glistening trail of moistness behind. All the way down.

My fingers make a brief pit stop at Alex's inner thigh, knowing that this would surely send her over the edge. There was a very real possibility of me being killed tonight.

"Jesus Fucking Christ. Piper you fucking-"

"Alex Alex _Alex_. You always say the sweetest things." I run my hands through her hair in mild strokes. "Isn't it about time you cleaned out that dirty mouth of yours?"

My fingers slowly disappear under her panties, my index and middle fingers burying themselves in Alex's centre, rubbing and flicking and thrusting.

God fucking dammit. I felt so powerful, watching Alex writhe under my touch made my own pulse roar wildly inside my head. My hips bucked involuntarily against her, Alex's flexed abdominal muscles rippling underneath me.

And what an erotic sight it was to behold.

Leaning down, I hiss into her ear. "Does that feel good, hmmm? Just like that?" I nipped her earlobe with my lips just as the rate and pace of my fingers increased, insanely pleased at the sheen of sweat that began to form over her brow.

"For the love of god." Alex pleaded breathlessly — but to me it sounded more like a beg. (I like to extrapolate a lot)

"Do you want me to stop?"

Wow. I really _was_ a bad girl, unleashed from her dormant state to inflict this upon the both us. I'm loving every second of it, apparently my quest for power was unquenchable.

"Piper, fuck. If you do…I'll-"

That was my finger pumping a little bit more deeper and more firmly and _full_ of tease.

I could press my thumb right against that spot and finish her off, but I liked seeing her this way for just a little longer. After all, how often will I be granted this opportunity of watching Alex beg for mercy? Rare, I tell you.

"Do. You. Want. Me. To. Stop?"

"No."

"What?"

"Nooo"

"I can't quite…" I moved my hands more deeper into her recesses. "…hear you."

"Piper." Alex whispers, her voice all hoarse and barely heard over the heat blasting through my body. Her hands were gripping the back of my neck, pulling me closer to her face.

I grant her momentary reprieve.

Our mouths crash against one another once more, the kisses rapt and intense, full of movement and a wanton energy. Even I couldn't wait any longer, her hot breath sending all my nerve-endings into a fevered meltdown.

"These will have to go." I snarled, suddenly rearing up and pulling her panties off in one graceful sweep. My mouth plowed into her warmth. God, I could smell the arousal to the point where I release a throaty moan of my own. A cataclysm of lust shattering my breathing.

"Piper, please."

My tongue lapped and teased and licked, pushing Alex higher and higher. Her fingers were trussing up my hair, pulling them at the roots just as I finally send her flying.

"Just fucking end me!"

I could feel her grip the bedding around us, heels digging into the mattress as her back arched backward and her head flung back in a sweep of ecstasy. With a final groan, Alex fell back onto the bed, just laying there breathing like she'd just ran a mile.

I flop backwards onto the floor, my own head still spinning, riding high off my accomplishments

"You're a fucking minx, Piper Chapman." Alex eventually mutters, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, eyes flickering with newly found astonishment.

"I just wanted to return the favour." I say in my sweet innocent voice.

"Appalling behaviour." Alex chuckles.

She holds a proffered hand out for me, beckoning me back onto the bed.

"Again?"

Oh god. I don't think I've got enough gas in the tank for any more rounds."

"Me either."

"If I knew this is what you were going to be like I would have topped my reserves right to the brim." She eyes me up and down and seems to revoke that thought. "Actually I don't think even _that_ would've been enough."

Her fingers gently run through my hair. I'm enjoying the haphazard way Alex messed up my hair, braid and all.

"And I didn't even get to to finish doing your hair." She murmurs disappointingly.

Which is just as well, I'm itching to undo the half-finished abomination that rested on top of my head.

An A class charmer and mega-flirt Alex was, but hair braider she was not.

I lazily run my fingers through her hair just as she leans forward and delivers a gentle kiss full of affection.

I'll take the former, the latter I can learn to live with.

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* * *

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It's the second time I'm riding pillion on a motorbike that was doing at least thirty miles above the speed limit, hurtling us across the interstate that was headed out of New York City.

I'm clutching on for dear life as a thousand different scenarios of bike-related injuries loop around my head.

 _Why did I say yes? Why did I say yes? Why did I say yes?_

Because, Alex Vause. Duh.

(I feel like in the future, every time I re-evaluate any bad life decisions, my answer would always be in the form of those two words.)

My hands are encircling the waist of a leather-clad Alex as greenery and grey buildings whizzed past us. It seems a precarious perch to me sat back here, with nothing but my fearful grasp holding me in place. Already the adrenaline was coursing unchecked, reminding me yet again of my foolish life decisions.

Alex assures me that as long as I hold on, I should be fine. Truly stellar advice that was quickly forgotten every time my knees nearly skimmed the road surface whenever we took a sharp turn or a hair breadth away from becoming flush with car doors as we filtered through queues of traffic at ridiculous speeds.

"You alright back there?!" Alex's muffled voice just about reaches my own helmet covered ears.

"Great!"

If 'great' meant I'm going to be fucking sick and the only reason I have not yet done so is because I don't want to ruin your criminally sexy leather jacket, then 'great' sounds just about right.

We've soon left the narrow roads of downtown Manhattan, now riding through vast spaces of open green fields and plains. "Hold on! We're nearly there!"

I'm busy cursing the person who planned these roads just as we took another near impossible ninety degree turn, my world tilting perilously. But thankfully, we turn upright again in the very last second.

I grip on tighter to Alex, feeling her chest rise up and down, my hands flush against her and finding unlikely comfort.

Okay, maybe the ride wasn't _that_ bad.

After a few minutes we slow down and finally come to a full stop. Alex helps me get off the bike, her hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me forward. It's a surprisingly affectionate gesture on her part and I'm beginning to think that all this assshole-ish behaviour must be one big elaborate front.

But then she shatters all that in a matter of milliseconds.

"I'm so sorry." She says between barely contained laughter. "But you look like a fucking raccoon that's been dragged under a car. Twice for good measure."

I'm too busy thanking the lord for allowing me to come off this ride in one piece, to even acknowledge that particularly colourful description. "You really know how to make a girl feel good."

My hair had been messed around from my helmet and I quickly try and muss it back to its original non-raccoon like state. Alex slowly walks up to me and helps place the last strands of hair back into their rightful position.

An out of nowhere shiver of _want_ suddenly skitters through me, as I savour the feel of her fingers lightly dancing through my hair. It's enough to make me take an involuntary step back.

"There, back to your beautiful self again." Alex declares, punctuating it with a soft kiss to the cheek.

* * *

Welcome to Dryden National Park

Please do not feed the animals and enjoy the view

There was _that_ view: faraway mountains majestically rising above the horizon, their snow covered tips like icing dusted on cake. While ancient oaks trees with their magnificent and statuesque presence dominated the awesome vista of nature that was presented before us.

And _then_ there was that _other_ view, and just as the sign advised I was enjoying it immensely.

Throughout my path of self discovery, I have recently learned there's something about tight leather and toned limbs that really kickstarted my heart into the highest gear of gay.

Oh and the mountains weren't too bad either.

Alex turns around and tilts her head. "It's beautiful isn't it?"

"Absolutely." I say with possibly the most conviction I've ever harnessed.

* * *

It turns out Alex was quite the naturist. Not the nudist sort, mind. But the kind that were really in touch with nature. I surmised this quickly when I watched her talk animatedly about the history and hidden views the place had. She guided me through well worn paths, along mountain sides and led us on a surprisingly enjoyable hike through dense forestry. We lazily sauntered across panoramic plains that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Alex knew a lot of about Dryden and I figured this must be a place she had frequented often.

Who knew a dry-witted motorcycle riding wiseacre with the world's gayest dress sense would love trees and be so nature savvy? Odds would speak and say that was going to be me - minus the dry-wit, motorcycle and asshole personality of course.

In a strange roundabout way it made me like her even more.

We reached an open space amongst the forestry where Alex lights a campfire with surprising expertise. She's brought marshmallows as well, complete with scavenged branches as makeshift skewers.

For something so inherently American; I have never actually partaken in the whole sitting around campfire, eating hot s'mores tradition. Polly's words come echoing back to me - she was right - Alex _was_ debunking my boring routine of a life, introducing to me things I'd never thought of embarking on, always citing my too busy work/life schedule as a poorly veiled excuse.

"Where do we sit?" I ask.

"Here." Alex points at a felled tree stump that looks like it might be harbouring more than just a few insects.

Not wanting to make my lack of outdoor experience obvious, I hesitantly sit down but not before I wipe the surface in a lacklustre attempt at trying to clean out nature.

"You're going to need a bigger bucket and a whole lot of bleach if you want to clean up the entire forest."

Alex turns back to the fire, skewering a marshmallow and holding it over the flames.

I find myself finally unwinding, the rhythmic crackling of the flames lulling me into a state of calm. I'm in awe of the the tall poplar trees surrounding us, our little oasis in the midst of the woods.

Alex nudges me, "For starters I offer milady a taste of the finest fire roasted marshmallow."

Smiling, I take it with exaggerated primness, "Hmmm." I murmur as I take a bite. "Firm and soft on the inside. Just how I like it."

Alex raises her eyebrow, skewering another one. "Wouldn't you have it, I like mine _hot_ and dripping. It takes a special skill to make it just so."

We look at each other for a moment and burst out laughing.

We're quiet again, both of us watching the embers of desiccated wood shoot out every now and again, the intermittent croaks of nearby crickets punctuating the silence of the night.

"When do we get to the horror storytelling?" I ask jokily.

"Oh that? That's straight after we camp here for the night."

I swivel around. "Stay here? _Tonight?_ You're joking right?"

"What?" She asks with a serious face. "Did you not bring your pyjamas and mosquito repellent?'

"Did you?"

" _I_ don't need to, I'm practically immune to nature."

"I'm not carrying any other clothes?" I emphasise incredulously.

"You can sleep naked if you want. _Really_ embrace nature and become one with it. It _is_ quite liberating being so attuned to the elements." She regards me up and down. "And the sleeping naked thing…I don't mind _at all."_

"You're kidding. C'mon Alex, you're actually kidding?"

"One word of warning, it gets really cold at night here in the stark wilderness. I've got my blanket made of leaves and my trusty bamboo stitched pillow, what have _you_ got?"

"Nothing."

Alex pauses, "I think we may be able to share, don't worry."

Just as a point of emphasis that I'm not at all equipped for the off-grid living experience; Mother Nature throws me her curveball.

No sooner had Alex finished speaking, I jump up - because a giant fucking beetle thing with at least a thousand legs ( I may be exaggerating) flies into my lap unannounced.

Lord have mercy: it was the winged variety as well, unleashed straight from the pits of bug hell.

"Good god!" I scream trying to flick it off without touching it.

Alex laughs just as she feeds the fire with more wood, looking entirely unbothered. "Humanity has lived several thousands of years peacefully coexisting with bugs and we're still doing just fine."

"Not when they're the size of my head!" I yell, fervently patting myself down in the fear beetle beast may have an accomplice.

"They're _tiny."_

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I give Alex an _are you crazy_ look. "These things are so big, they must have names and social security numbers and running their own successful businesses."

"Are you even listening to yourself?"

I am hugely aware I'm acting like a giant baby but there are mutant beetles roaming unrestrained in our immediate vicinity and I'm so not fine with that, even worse when I may have to share a sleeping space with them.

"You do know I'm kidding about the whole staying here when it gets dark thing? Like I know I'm quite spontaneous but even I have my boundaries."

"I just don't know what to believe anymore."

"Sorry I couldn't help myself."

I glance over at her, the slanting of dusk sunlight bathing her face in soft, warm hues. The sun had already started dipping below the distant horizon, teasing us with its orange ember glow. I'm suddenly struck with a strange sense of urgency of capturing this moment, not able to let it pass without somehow acknowledging it.

I look down at Alex's hand, neatly resting on the tree stump, when my own hands move off their accord, twirling them around hers. Alex doesn't look but responds by lightly rubbing her thumb over my knuckles in slow, soft circles.

I don't know whether it's the sunset making me feel all sentimental but I find myself thinking that I'd be perfectly content if I was forced to spend the rest of my life in this exact position, at this exact time, in this exact location with this exact person.

Alex's voice lifts me out of my thoughts. "You look about a thousand miles away."

"Just thinking."

"Good things?"

"Entirely good." I murmur shyly.

"All about me I hope?" Alex asks with a charmed smile.

"Maybe. Or maybe not."

Startled, I realise the sun had finally descended, reaching its final resting place, where it had been replaced with the soft and silvery glow of a crescent moon, bathing us in an almost spectre-like glow.

"God, you're looking so splendid tonight." Alex whispers into the dark, the orange-red crackles of our campfire reflected in her glasses. I could feel her sidling up beside me, her chin placed over my shoulder as she whispered into my ear. "Look up."

"If this another insect, Alex..so help me god."

"No scary beetles, I promise."

I tilted my head up, greeted by Alex playfully dangling a mistletoe between her fingers. She lifts her brows mischievously, "You know what to do."

"Did you find this here?" My lips are pursed but there's a smile waiting to burst out. "And also you _do_ know it's not Christmas?"

"Yes to both questions and Pipes, since when is there a time restriction on the use of mistletoes?"

"Maybe there is."

"I declare that mistletoes can be used all year round."

"Well if you insist." I mutter coyly.

Alex tilts her head and leans toward me, but I'm already meeting her halfway, our lips coming together in a gentle embrace. This time it's much more tender, our eyes closed as we explore, give and take.

And damn damn her to hell… she knew how to kiss. The kind of kiss that once committed I couldn't just break away from.

"You're too good at this." I murmured into her chin, my heart doing cartwheels in my chest, as I relished in the warmth of Alex's body pressed against mine.

Her fingers trace the valley of my nape, the contact so delicate and soft, it was almost as though I was imagining it. After an age, my eyes flicker open, mouth slightly ajar, and there she: is front and centre, looking at me as though I was the only person left on this planet.

The mistletoe lay between us, long forgotten.

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AN/ Okay, I remember when I first started this on whim that I stated the story would be max a three shot, and here we are on chapter six. I'm such a liar. Would love to know your thoughts :)


	7. Honey, I'm caught up in our desire

7\. Honey, I'm caught up in this desire

* * *

 _AN/ Sorry for the thousand year wait. The banalities of life and work imposing on me as per usual_

 _I'd like to take a minute and thank everyone for the immense patience and engagement with this fic. Honestly, it's genuinely what motivates me to write more. I never thought I'll be on chapter seven considering I started this out of the blue once upon a time and never expected it to be further than three installments. Anyhooooooo, love you all_

 _(perspective is Piper's)_

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[alex/atwood] missing me yet?

[p/chapman] so much self confidence so little tact

alex/atwood you seemed awfully tactful when you were screaming my name out last night ;)

[p/chapman] besides the point

[alex/atwood] done with work yet?

[p/chapman] currently slaving away in hot heat. I mean I don't even know where my clothes begin and my skin ends.

[alex/atwood] that's a nice visual.

[p/chapman] prepare yourself…I'm scraping leftover turkey into an overflowing trash can

[alex/atwood] my god that's hot

[p/chapman] give it a rest. how are you?

[alex/atwood] the usual of filling out paperwork and fantasising of all the things I could do with trash cans and you

[p/chapman] the latter sounds horrific

[alex/atwood] don't insult if you haven't tried

[p/chapman] sounds like a logistical nightmare if you ask me

[alex/atwood] wait until you find out what you can do with just a whip and a jar of chocolate. the possibilities are virtually endless

[p/chapman] personally I prefer honey

[alex/atwood] I'll text you when I'm done which will give you just enough time to undress and stick a jar of honey in the microwave

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The next few days flew by in a haze of work and catching up with friends. I felt revived and reinvigorated already feeling the familiar dreamy of a smile make its way through as I thought of our nature rendezvous a few nights back. I was like a moth forever  
attracted to the fiery flames of Alex's charm and it didn't help when she kept texting me to remind of such.

I mean even my monthly phone call to mother had me not rip my hair out by the end of the conversation - instead I feigned signal difficulties and prematurely hung up. There's only so much commentary over the imminent demise of my eggs I could listen to  
\- even Alex couldn't help with that.

Friday nights at work were one the worst days in the week, it's when the whole world decided it was time to abandon home-cooking and eat ready made food. Proof when I now found myself wrestling through a sea of bodies. Everyone wants to eat and everyone  
wants to eat now. It was an assault course made of hungry humans and trays stacked with delicately placed food.

" _Chapman, you're about three orders behind!"_

 _"I asked my steak to be well-done, this is so raw it's practically mooing."_

 _"Was I speaking Chinese when I said gluten-free bread?"_

 _"Spillage at table four!"_

blah blah and blah

Keep on smiling - just like water off a duck's back.

Comments like this would have had me cowering away, cursing profanities under my breath but now I show off my best dainty smile and just crack on with it. Red could send me the entire Chinese army, all with various food allergies and specific demands  
to make my brain go loopy and it still wouldn't dent my shield of happiness.

As much as I gripe about work, there's no fighting off the joy when a patron compliments me on my impeccable waiting skills or when one of the waiters I'm managing insists on covering my last half hour of shift because I've been so attentive and patient  
with them. It's one of the few times in the year where I feel incredibly privileged to be part of a largely thankless profession.

"Poussey! Where's my order for table three?" I shout through the window.

Poussey tosses me a look, "What the fuck are you on?"

"What?"

"You're not four orders behind, your hair's doesn't look like you've been hit by lightning and you ain't crying."

Okay, is that how bad I looked on a normal day? I shrug her comments off and flip her the bird instead, "Just do your job and get me my order."

"I'll have to thank your motorbike gal later for turning you into an actual functioning human."

"Nothing to do with her." I retort.

"As much truth in that as Nichols claiming she used to be a church-going debutante."

A voice speaks up behind me, "I was a church-going debutante in theory. Little does mother know her brilliant daughter was smoking up weed underneath the bleachers and getting herself touched up by Liv from the soccer team. Ah those were the days."

Nicky sidles up beside me, her mouth drawn into a lopsided grin and inexplicably winking at me while watching me try and carry a particularly precarious prawn and roquette salad. "I'll have what you're having, Chapman.

I'm beginning to think Nichols has me tagged because she always seems to pop up when I least expect it. It's not like we even worked the same patch or had the same shifts which made it all the more disconcerting.

"She's on some happy pill, Nicks or she's started doing drugs."

"Somehow I can't quite envisage our Piper rolling a spliff - it would just clash with her uptight all american thing she's got going on."

"Funny that, marijuana increases the risk of a decrease in IQ, seems like you're already affected, Nichols." I throw back.

Nicky taps me on the forehead, "I have just watched you with my own eyes not even bat an eyelid when that screamy brat at number ten hurled his bowl of spaghetti at you. Exactly what _are_ you taking?

"I guess I'm just much more tolerant than you." I say airily passing my tray onto a young waiter.

Nicky seems to think I'm speaking straight out of my ass because she laughs and scoffs, "Says the girl who complains hours on end when a customer even dares to ask for a serviette…give me a break you'd have been all over that boy any other day."

I stop what I'm doing for a second, "Are you saying I'm a violent person?"

"No what I'm saying is that you've practically been hopscotching around the place a maniacal smile plastered over your face…it's scaring us all."

"Uh huh. Truly scary." Poussey nods.

Clearly my post-Alex was high was drawing way too much attention, and I make a mental note to reel in the giddy smile whenever my co-workers were in close sight.

"Can't I just be happy for no other reason than being happy?"

God that sounded like a soundbite out of a really bad acted high school play.

Nicky shakes her head, "At least try and make it sound convincing, Chapman. It's offensive how poor of an effort you're making."

I grab another order more firmly than necessary hoping that she got the giant non-subtle I don't want to speak to you about my near death experience last night courtesy of my skilful girlfriend nay sex artiste today or _ever._

"Do you want me to tell you about _my_ night?"

Clearly she was blind to social cues.

"Not particularly no."

"We're all friends here, Pipes."

I don't care how close we are as friends here or that we have both bonded in the midst of Red's many verbal torrents - there are two universal truths here : I would never ever divulge anything of a remotely personal things to Nicky nor would I ever begin  
to even imagine said things to be ever kept under wraps.

"Ah!" She points her index finger up in the air, "Your rocker girlfriend has been experimenting with you and she's hit the jackpot?"

"What the fuck, Nicky." I gasp out in horror and disgust.

"What I wouldn't do to feel those-"

I release a sigh more powerful than a Dyson fan and swivel around, "Fine! I spent most of my night getting fucked senseless and you know what? It was so fucking great I'm probably going to do it all over again tonight!"

My temporary self-satisfied grin segues into legitimate horror when I realise the rest of the gang walk in at the exact moment I declare this sordid information

"Wow, P." Taystee exclaims, wide eyed.

"Colourful description albeit graphic." Brooke Soso deadpans.

"Who needs dildos to get turned on when you've got Piper and her mouth." Poussey laughs hysterically.

"Fuck Chapman, can I join in? You make for such a compelling experience." Nicky laughs, holding her sides in between loud snorts.

"You're digging yourself a hole here." I add, belatedly realising I'm on a train that has careened off its tracks and is now hurling over the giant cliff face that was my massive, stupid, filterless mouth. Mostly stupid.

She's obviously left the best until last, "I'm so glad there's at least one hole getting some action round here."

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Speaking of holes...

A subway journey that should have taken half hour had just taken me over two hours, add to that, it nearly cost me my sanity as well.

I'm maximal levels of irritation and minimal levels conscious. I could just about become one with my bed. I'm fumbling with the keys of my door when it suddenly swings open.

"Fuck!" I yelp, jumping into a commando stance, key in hand as a makeshift weapon. "I'm armed!"

"Woah! Steady on!" I'm greeted by Alex standing in front of me, her shoulders jerked upward in surprise, "Enough with the ninja pose already."

I stand up straight and meet her gaze, "How the hell did you even get in?"

Not that I remotely cared. All I could hone in on and was that Alex was here in the flesh and within touching distance.

"I scaled the drainpipe outside and somersaulted in via the window."

I raised my eyebrows, "I wouldn't be surprised."

"Your door was open."

"So you thought you should make yourself at home?"

"I saw it as making sure nobody broke in and heaven forbid stole your collection of Harry Potter DVDs." A grin adorned her face "All sorts of unsavoury characters around these days."

"Thanks, I think."

She walks up to me and gently takes my coat off, fingers lightly brushing against my neck. Looking at those hands, the very hands that were on me in a very pronounced way a few nights before. I'd be lying if I wasn't already wishing we skipped all this  
preamble and followed up with part deux.

But my legs feel like they're going to collapse from underneath me, the last remnants of subway horror still reverberating inside my head.

"Ugh, I feel like I've ran a double marathon." I moan, my hands are already reaching out, "I need a good hug."

Alex walks up to me, and wraps her arms around my waist, my own strewn over her neck, "Hmmm, that feels so good." I murmur into her neck. "You smell like lovely flowery detergent meanwhile I smell like half of New York's unwashed vagrant population."

She kisses me on the side of the head. "Long day huh?"

"Too long." I sink further into the warmth, letting my body sag and muscles loose.

We stand like that for a couple of minutes, before I finally force myself to let go not wanting the moment to end.

Alex returns holding out a glass of wine and a winning smile that melted away the very last of my stress and fatigue.

"A glass of the lady's favourite wine." She proclaims.

I'm eyeing her suspiciously albeit taking the proffered glass.

"What's the occasion?"

"No occasion." She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, "I'm just really happy to see you - is that such a bad thing?"

"You see me nearly every day, Al." I mutter between wine-soaked kisses.

"It's my day off tomorrow and I'm just _more_ happy to see you knowing I can ravage you up for two whole days."

"Sounds like a productive forty-eight hours if you ask me."

I plop onto the sofa dragging Alex down with me, wine sloshing all over the place but truly not caring - I had other things to take care of. "Tell me about your day."

"Just doing my thing in that ivory tower of mine."

"You're such a snob, _Ms Atwood."_

Alex crinkles her nose, "God, I hate that name."

"Imagine how conflicted _I_ am when your email reads Alex Atwood and I open up its contents to see something entirely unbusinesslike."

"Did you like the picture?" Alex chuckles, her face proud and expectant. "It's my best angle."

"Your best angle was nearly witnessed by Nichols." I shudder, as I remember innocently opening up the attachment and nearly going into a full of cardiac arrest.

"There's plenty more where did that came from."

"A disclaimer would be nice next time."

"What? And spoil the fun?"

She sidles up to me, sporting a smile that told me I wasn't going to be clothed for very long, " Also you've got something on your face."

"Where?" I start wiping my face at random.

"Just _there."_

I wipe some more, "Has it gone?"

"No, a little more to the left."

She comes even closer, taking her time to inspect my face, hers so close to mine I'm having to squint my eyes.

"Don't move." Her hand reaches out, her fingers gently grazing my lips.

I wasn't planning on moving anyway, my ass was currently rooted to the sofa - I may or may not have become one with the fabric.

"Hmmm" She ponders in complete exaggeration "What are we going to do?"

My mind's already fraying, "I'm sure there are other ways you can think of."

"So many ways." Her face came back to mine, lips ghosting over mine, delicately, gently. My eyes fluttered shut, my entire body engulfed with so many sensations as our lips crashed against one another.

My hands moved from my lap and burrowed themselves in her hair before sliding downwards coming to a rest at her nape.

"Can't quite seem to get it off..." Alex murmured against my lips, her eyes low and crowding with lust.

"I guess you just have to keep...trying."

I threw my arms around her neck and lowered her down to me, planting open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and wherever I could access really.

"So stubborn just like you." She whispered, so quietly I could barely hear her over my low-sounding groans. Her hands unhurriedly unbuttoned my shirt, pushing it off my shoulders as our rhythm began to segue from slow and teasing to frantic and dangerous.

Alex's hands sneaked around my front, lightly scraping along my breastbone, too close to places that harboured possibly half of my body's nerve endings and then some.

My hands anchored themselves around her neck just as her own skated over the fabric of my bra causing every neuron to come alive, superseding every pleasurable feeling I've had up until now.

I'm on top of the world or at the edge of it or just about to fall off it.

I don't know.

All I do know is that my dress has been hiked up, deft fingers triggering shockwaves in my centre. My eyes flew open as a very specific warmth began to travel through me.

"Can't quite seem to get it off which unfortunately means I have to carry on."

I think I murmured something that resembled okay or it may have been fucking do it and do it fucking fast. The operative word being fucked. Argh.

I dry-swallow as Alex swallows me up with her ruinous lips.

I'm granted my wish of being thoroughly cleaned up nay wrecked.

With almost loving precision, Alex hooked her thumb beneath my panties and dragged them down my legs. She momentarily leant back and climbed out of her own clothes, which caused an involuntary gasp to emit from my throat.

She gazed at me for a moment, maybe even just a few minutes but it felt like an entire lifetime, "Now where's the honey?"

I exhale a breath I hadn't realised was being held. "I thought you'd never ask."

Alex's face stretches into a mischievous smirk while I'm smiling like a girl who'd just been handed a lifetime supply of candy all at once.

I could get used to this.

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Apparently that aforementioned cliff face was only the prelude to my week that had started off so well because a hand suddenly appears midair, clamps itself around my arm, and drags me forward along the hallway.

I'm practically being frog-marched along the corridor toward the back of Haven and before I figure out whether I'm in real danger or just on the receiving end of an over-enthusiastic greeting, I find myself semi-slung in a tiny broom closet with Red's  
face no less than an inch away from my own.

Her eyes are darting wildly over my face, her lips pursed into near nothingness and every muscle in my body is screaming me at me to retreat but not possible by said six by six feet closet. It's all very clandestine, the place is barely lit, the shadows  
cast over Red making her appear about ten more scarier, which is no mean feat. I feel like a prized piece of game she's just caught and fearfully waiting for her to decide where she's going to deliver the first cut.

"Did you do it?"

Her context-less question makes me momentarily wonder what on earth she's talking about but then she follows it up with, "Your Excelsior girlfriend?"

"I haven't had a chance…I haven't really found the right time to ask."

That feeling of wanting to jump out of my skin overwhelms me for a second when I flash back to Alex catching me red-handed nosing through her laptop — and what made the whole thing worse was having to constantly relive her dead cold stare as I tried to  
explain away with my pathetic ramblings.

"What have you been doing for these past few weeks?"

Sleeping, eating, getting laid…you know the usual.

"God fucking dammit, Chapman. Time is money - take your goddamn love glasses off and do what I told you."

"I don't want-"

I'm in a confined space with my Russian boss and all I can think of right now whether I'll be leaving it alive or not. So I changed my response and mumble. "You can count on me, boss."

She watches me, unblinking for a drawn out time. I'm having the uncomfortable thought Red was doing some kind of mental maths - dividing and multiplying and square-rooting just how how much I'm actually worth her troubles. Based on the less than infamous  
figure I've portrayed so far, I wouldn't bet on the answer being remotely positive.

"Actions speak louder than words, Chapman. And you've written me a novel on how much you want this job so far. I want the action now."

God, could she give it an actual rest?

She softens her expression and places her hands on my shoulders, "Look Piper, you're talented and are a quick learner but sometimes you can be as smart as a mule."

Red seems to have realised that threats and vague indications of violence may not be the only way in reaching solutions. Whether she was genuine or not was something I'm having trouble discerning.

"I build this place up from nothing." She pierces her eyes into mine, inching even closer to me. "Back when you were a little speck in your mother's womb I was already planning the birth of my own baby: Haven."

"Right."

She suddenly tilts back and leans against the wall as though all the energy has left her, "I haven't told the others this but we're struggling."

Relief momentarily dampens down my surprise: so we're in this broom closet because she doesn't want the others catching wind of Haven's possible downfall rather than it being the ideal place to dispose a body of.

Thank the lord.

"Struggling how much?"

She mutters something in Russian. "Let's just say I've made more money selling my Maria and Olga back in motherland than we made in profits last month."

I'm almost too scared to ask, "Maria?"

"My beloved cows." She clutches her chest, eyes glazed over with nostalgia, "They were so good to me."

"I'm sorry to hear." I murmur, trying to figure out if there's even scope for condolences.

"Don't you apologise." She hisses at me. " People make sacrifices all the time and now it's your turn, Chapman."

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* * *

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"Here!"

I'm greeted by Polly doing a vague reenactment of a traffic officer hit with a bad case of Parkinson's, arms waving all over the place, an interesting way to try and catch my attention and apparently so thought the middle-aged couple walking by.

Like I could even miss her considering she was wearing a flowery dress that screamed I'm a middle-class thirty-something year old woman who doesn't care about conventional dress sense.

"Dude, I'm here!"

She's already ordered coffee for both of us meaning I can forgive her for all of the above.

"Hey, Pol"

No sooner had I declared my presence, she looks up and jumps out of the chair, nearly knocking me backward from the force of her hug.

"Oh my god you recognised me!" She lets me go and takes a step back, surveying me all over, making me feel slightly self-conscious.

I mean I know we haven't seen each other for just over a month, but surely I haven't changed that much nor had she?

"I'm going to have to hail this as the miracle of 2016. You've been so busy with your new female beau I thought you'd erased me off your memory." She finishes, and sits back down.

Smiling I follow suit, "How could I ever forget you…what with your ample bosom and to die for eyes."

"Okay no. Stop."

"Too much gay?"

"All gay."

"I can't even compliment your looks for fear of you thinking I'm coming on to you? It's 2016, Pol."

"And?"

I'm stuttering for a response, because normally when people counter argue by emphasising the year, they normally won but I've failed to think through my defence strategy.

"And you're looking hot that's all. Minus the clothes but the face compensates for that."

She narrows her eyes, "Since when have you been so flirty?"

"C'mon don't be so against our pseudo-lesbian romance."

"Speaking of lesbians, does Miss Atwood even approve of open relationships?"

"You've literally got to stop calling her that." I sighed wearily.

"A lesbian?"

"No Atwood."

"Okay fine, you probably have a million nicknames for her anyway." She waves her hand nonchalantly. "Also...has she invited you to her offices yet?"

"Why would I want to go there?"

"Duh."

"If this is your fifty shades fantasy again I swear I'm-"

"Oh please like you haven't thought it."

"I'm not going to base my relationship on a film that's about as erotic as watching a Donald Trump rally."

I take a sip of my coffee and sit back, basking in the sudden ray of sunshine that appeared behind the clouds.

"A lot of wrist action?"

"Huh?" I halt my rubbing.

Polly nods her head at my hand. "You keep touching your wrist."

"Oh." I shrug. "Probably a repetitive strain injury from…from…"

I'm blushing furiously when I catch her amused expression and mutter the last out in a jumble of syllables. "From carrying too many trays at work."

"Sweetie, I'm pained to say that makes no anatomical sense."

I have no alternative cause for my so called injury, ergo this conversation is closed.

But Polly reopens it again, "Alex doesn't happen to have also carried too many trays at work and suffered this unfortunate wrist problem?"

"No." I swallowed my coffee that was too hot and now instantly burnt off at least a quarter of my taste buds. I daren't look up and meet Polly's most knowing of know it all grins occupying most of her face.

"Anyway, how long have you know her now?"

"Couple of months"

"I've had cheese in my fridge for longer than that."

Lately I've had the feeling that all Polly's comments to me are laden with strategic hints that really lack in the subtlety factor.

"I take it you don't approve?" I add a tinge of neutrality to veil the undercurrent of approval.

"Don't you think things are moving a little too fast?"

"Why do you think that?"

"Don't you remember Aaron and I - and how _that_ ended up?"

"You dumped Aaron because you realised he was a douche who sold dope to children. Alex and I are nothing like that and also I can't even believe you're comparing her to that deadbeat asshole."

"I never told you but one of the deciding factors with Aaron was his unfortunate problem." Polly begins. "As well as the drug-dealing with minors of course." She adds almost as an afterthought.

"And?"

"His _you-know_ was well below the American average."

"I could have carried on living not having to know about that ever."

"Add to that the issues of his little misshapen carrot not being able to…grow during…the right season. If you get my sense."

"Polly, seriously."

I was nearly about to shove sugar cubes into my ears, such was the emergency.

"It was problematic for both of us." She says with a straight face. "Anyway, like I said, I don't want you becoming unhappy."

"I'm not going to be unhappy."

"I hope so."

"Do you know what she did this morning?" I lean forward, totally serious.

"Make you orgasm six times in a row?"

"Seven times actually but that's besides the point — she made me breakfast in bed. If that's not relationship material I don't know what is."

Polly shakes her head, eyes full of incredulity. "Seven orgasms is relationship material, babes and for that alone she deserves a medal. I'm lucky if Pete even acknowledges my existence these days."

"You still with that loser?"

"Hey! He's a loser and a bad representative for Aussies but that's for me to decide."

"I don't think I've ever met him while he's been sober." I ponder out loud.

"I think I've genuinely forgotten what he is like when not falling all over the place and calling me love-button."

"Sorry."

"Yeah well enough about me...has your love of your life been put off by your foot in mouth disease yet?"

"Do we really have to keep talking about me, or Alex rather?"

"I've just told you about my alcoholic boyfriend, it's only fair." She says by way of explanation. "Plus, I'm not the one who's orgasming a ridiculous amount."

"And answer to your earlier question, no she hasn't. Not yet anyway."

"So she's totally fine with your great love for the insufferably gluten-free, Fairtrade, organic lifestyle you strive to lead?

I roll my eyes, "You make me sound like such a hipster."

"You're drinking almond infused coffee."

"So?"

"I'm so not even going to waste my breath."

"Whatever."

I'm so delightfully artisan, although I had no insight into this and thankfully Alex didn't seem to mind it either.

All I need is an Instagram shot of my Starbucks pumpkin-spiced latte with its Valencia filter, and I will have fully embraced my role of the ultimate 21st century WASP.

"Just be careful, yeah? I know her types."

"What? You mean Christian Grey types?"

"Now you're the one who's brought that up." She says smugly. "But seeing as you did, exactly those types is what I mean."

"I think you might be slightly unhinged, Pols."

"Your track record has been full of casualties and tears. I don't want to be picking up the pieces again."

"Thanks for your blessings." I add sarcastically.

She grabs hold of my hands, "Hey, you _do_ know I'm just jealous of you and your obnoxious seven orgasms and also pissed I don't bat for the other team." Polly laughs.

That coaxes a smile out of me, "Honestly, Pols. I don't even know how she does it."

"Too much information." She points at my wrist. "You should give that a rest as well." And winks at me.

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I glanced at my phone again, scanning it for any missed messages or calls.

Nothing.

We were supposed to meet up after work, Alex promising she'll pick me up from my apartment once I'd reached home.

That was supposed to have happened over an hour ago and truthfully I was beginning to grow frustrated and on the verge of feeling like someone who'd been stood up at a date.

Although I didn't want to seem overbearing, I was becoming a little concerned that she hadn't contacted me yet to let me know something else came up or she was going to be late or _something_ at least.

Here I was sat on my own in my best dress, and no Alex to take me.

Deliberating, I picked up my phone again to call but then texted her instead.

It's when another good half hour drifted by, did I make my mind up, grabbed my bag and walked up to hers.

I knocked on the door three times, and waited. Play fair.

Another knock.

No answer

I try the handle but it's locked.

"Don't bother, she ain't home."

I jerk around, met by a man probably in his sixties pushing a bucket and mop.

"What?"

"There ain't nobody home. She gone a while back." He points with his mop at the exit for added emphasis.

"That can't be…because I was supposed to go with her." I lament as though this cleaner man would hold the slightest investment in my life woes. He clearly doesn't because he just shrugs his shoulders, "Too bad, 'cause she and some lady went off together."

I was in the process of fishing my phone out and about to call Alex when my brain stalls and stutters, a sort of dizzying energy suddenly blitzing through me and bringing my next words out in short, halting bursts.

"How long ago?"

"Half hour maybe." He cocks his head. "Lady, you okay?"

He must have either noticed the sudden tremor in my left hand that seemed to have developed or my imminently going to throw up expression…or both.

"I'm fine."

"They seemed well acquainted." He muses more to himself.

"Well acquainted?"

"Quite close."

"How old?"

"I didn't get a proper look."

"Just guess." I counter almost aggressively. Young, old, or _old_ old."

"Old old?"

"I don't know greying, with a walking stick or something."

"I don't know mid-thirties maybe."

"What's she look like?" I asked the cold creeping from my hands into my arms.

I don't know why I'm subjecting myself to this torture - as though being blonde-haired as opposed to brunette would somehow alleviate my worries.

"Tall, dark hair, secretary glasses."

I hold back the sudden urge to kick his bucket over but managed to calm myself down, "The other one."

"Lady, are you a cop or something? Where's your badge?" He asks with narrowed eyes, jabbing a callused finger at me.

I hold my hands up. "No cop." (just a concerned citizen who needs to know what the fuck is happening…fast)

Mr Cleaner looks as though he's had enough of my interrogation or wasn't entirely convinced I wasn't a member of the law enforcement because he's already beginning to walk away.

"You wouldn't happen to know what direction they took?"

"I didn't ask because it's none of my business. You should try it sometime."

He flung open the hallway door, grunted and brushed past me.

I spent the next few hours in my apartment, listening out for any sounds of Alex returning, listening more carefully for any accompanying steps.

You'll probably thinking why not just text or call? I grew up in a household where pain was maximised and simple things over-complicated - so I determinedly carry on with my one-man stake-out.

I'm not sure how long I could keep this up for when a new worrying thought smashes everything else out; what if she doesn't even return for the night?

What am I even doing?

I'm spiralling into a fit of neurotic and misguided behaviour, that's what.

A flash of lightning lights up the apartment, quickly followed by a deafening crack of thunder. The lights flickered for a second, then buzzed out. Next, my computer screen gave up on me as well as the sky opened up again, dumped vats of rain onto the  
world below.

I fix my already cold coffee and return to the kitchen island, sipping and staring into space, the gloom of the evening descending on me.

It occurred to me that I might be entirely wrong — surely, _surely_ someone who held mistletoes above my head, kissed me goodnight, and gifts me out of the world sex would have at least a sliver of decency or grain or morality and not subject me  
to this borderline nightmare I'm currently in? But the swamp of doubt and betrayal I was wallowing in made that seem very remote.

I mean she was an exec - she probably spend most of her time fending and fighting off clingers on and infatuated women.

My ears prickle when a jangle of keys breaks the night silence, when a second later a door is slammed close.

My hearts picks up, my hands going clammy and fidgety.

I've been set in place for just under an hour that had ebbed slower than treacle, my neck was close to going into a permanent spasm while my legs felt achy and dead.

I'm realising I've not really thought this out properly; what exactly was I going to do once I'd confronted her? Or even worse, the plus one? I'm already so wound up - I'll probably just punch her. You decide who I'm referring to.

Rooted to my seat, I let another fifteen minutes pass before I find myself presented before her apartment, a douse of dread and something angling toward anger helps me pull the handle, letting the door swing open.

I'm almost clenching my eyes shut when I stumble into the apartment because whatever it was I was going to be greeted by was not something I'm going to allow to imprint into my memory.

My breathing slowed and my hearing heightened. I'm in survival mode.

"You know knocking would have been far more preferable."

My eyes pop open and I'm hit with the sight of a totally relaxed Alex ( on her own may I add) lounging on her sofa, book in hand.

My mouth seems to expel a sound that has been obsolete since the Neanderthal era, "Uh." I think it was or something equally dense sounding.

She closes her book. "I was just thinking about you and how I've not seen you naked for over twenty-four hours…your timing is impeccable."

My power of speech and mental capabilities have been absent ever since I stepped into this place, leaving me to communicate only via wild hand gestures and flickers of the eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Alex's expression downshifts from tease to concern.

"You're alone." I blurt, the statement more of a question.

"No."

"No?" My heart drops down a further rung.

"Well you're here so by default that would be a no." She clarifies.

My god the smart-assery in this one. Partly why I adore her so much - even in this senseless situation.

Wit and tease is what bonded us together.

"We were supposed to meet today."

Her face rapidly transforms into one of apologetic understanding. "Shit shit shit." She rounds the sofa and walks up toward me. "Pipes, I'm so sorry, I thought you said Tuesday!"

No indication of being caught in the act, and it made me irrationally angry. "Monday. I specifically said Monday." I respond with a stone-faced expression.

"God, I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Alex must have had a shower, her hair was still wet, dark tendrils of it sticking together, drips of wayward water running down and trailing down her neck and disappearing underneath the v of her tee.

Honestly, the whole aesthetic right now was so not helping me maintain my quest for cold-hearted retribution — I mean I had to physically stop the nerve signals firing from my brain that were instructing my hands to run up to her and stroke her hair.

It was just offensive how illegally beautiful she was in those candid moments - always striking me by surprise. I mean just get the handcuffs already and confine me to prison.

"Care for some coffee?"

I shake my head clear.

My mind was just abominable.

Coffee? Is she being serious? I don't get why she's so guilt-free about this whole thing considering she probably has some awful brunette / blonde-haired lady stowed away.

"Yes, coffee would be nice thanks." I'm going to have start simple. "Where did you go?"

" _Platinum_."

My mouth dries and I inwardly groan.

 _Platinum:_ expensive restaurant, minimal lighting, lots of table for twos. Ideal for an intimate candlelit dinner.

I watch her face. Nothing registered - not even a flicker.

"I thought I'd treat her since she really wanted to see me…I couldn't say no" Alex meets my gaze, poker-faced. "Sugar?"

"Two please."

I have to sit down, "Where is she now?"

"She didn't want to stay the night so I dropped her off back home."

Polly's jokes of open relationships and strange liberal lifestyles hit me against the side of the head - how is this happening to me?

"Milk?"

"Just a splash."

"God Pipes, the food was to die for. We should all go together sometime."

My eyes are about to escape off my face, saucer-sized and full of betrayal. What on earth is she suggesting? Is this some sort of euphemism for a threesome I've never heard of?

The nausea was riling up my insides, I couldn't do this any longer. "Alex, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this whole open-relationship thing. It's my fault I should have been much more clearer at the beginning."

She stops stirring our coffees, "Sorry?"

I wring my hands together, wishing someone could hurl me into the seventh circle of hell, actually change that I'm making an eight circle specially reserved for me. "I know you're way more liberal and adventurous than me but I don't think I'm fine with  
you going off with other people." I seem to garble this out in long sentence that was barely even comprehensible.

Alex laughs.

I'm not laughing.

This is no laughing matter.

Maybe in with her no boundaries, living in the city lifestyle this kind of thing was okay and perfectly acceptable but it sure wasn't for me.

I'm from Trestbury, Connecticut - a small town where evening curfews existed, where people would clutch their chests if heaven forbid you stepped on their manicured lawns, where families consisted of a man and a woman and their offspring.

The latter, the main reason why I had to leave the place almost immediately after I'd turned eighteen - this was when I realised that crushing on my female English teacher was severely frowned upon and kissing Sarah T behind our swimming pool was definitely _not_ good  
daughter behaviour.

Alex throws me out of my thoughts.

"Pipes, what the fuck are you talking about? You've lost me there."

"Your date?" I mumble miserably.

Was she going to ask me to spell it out for god's sake? I'm already on the brink of crying - the back of my eyeballs scratching furiously - the rush of emotion catching me by surprise.

"My date? What fucking date?"

Was there an echo in here or was she being purposefully obtuse?

"Your fucking _Platinum_ date."

"My Platin-" Alex cuts herself off before her confused expression turns into more laughter — and I know she's hot and all that but what I wouldn't do to slap that smile off her face, I hadn't realised how disgustingly condescending it could be.

"My Platinum date as you put it…is my fucking mom." Alex clutches her head and shakes it, coming to terms with this giant of a misunderstanding. "Oh god, I can't even begin to imagine..."

Shell-shocked, I manage to mutter, "But Seth said she was in her early thirties."

"Who the fuck is Seth? Don't tell me you've embraced this open relationship thing now too?"

"Seth the cleaner."

Alex leans back against the counter, "Well Seth the cleaner needs to get his eyes tested but I'll be sure to relay to mom she doesn't look a day over thirty…she'll be so fucking pleased with that."

"So no date?" I ask just to clarify the obvious.

She takes a good long look at me, green eyes dropping from my face and travelling across my body, "Pipes, I know I'm stating the obvious but I've got eyes only for you. How you even think otherwise really surprises the hell out of me."

"I'm sorry."

A stupid weight had come to rest in the bottom of my stomach, making me feel slightly off-balance. But then no sooner had Alex closed the gap between us, taking my stupid self into an embrace that I don't think I deserved - did that uncertainty of mine  
grow two legs and jump out of the nearest window.

"You sure you don't want to double check for any possible women I've got hiding away in here?"

"I already feel like the ground should swallow me up. Rub it in why don't you?"

"Well considering you've caused me so much distress, you can start making it up to me." She says with a touch of tease in her voice.

I'm already unzipping my top and shimmying out of my jeans, "Anything...where do you want me?'

Alex looks slightly taken aback, "Well I was going more for let's order takeout and you can pay kind of making up deal."

"Oh." I pull my jeans back up again, my ears and cheeks taking on a new colour that was yet to be heard of.

My god, what a way to establish some credibility.

"But if _that's_ what you had in mind." She says with a bemused smile, "By all means, carry on."

.

.

.

* * *

 _AN/ Next chapter. Next week :)_


	8. I'm a little shy but I know you know

8\. I'm a little shy but I know you know

 _Repetition incoming: thanks for all the patience and comments :)_

 _(As always perspective is Piper's)_

 _._

 _._

 _._

The shrill melody of my alarm harshly renders me out of my sleep. Groaning and muttering under my breath, I reluctantly roll over and let out of one of my prize-winning _why the fuck did I think three hours of sleep was going to be enough when I decided to watch an impromptu half a season of Dexter_ sigh. I burrowed further under my covers, the piercing meow of a nearby neighbourhood cat determinedly stopping me from returning into blissed peace.

It's only when I'm halfway through brushing my teeth - my eyes still half-closed and fighting a losing battle with tranquil unconsciousness, do I dumbly realise it's Saturday.

Saturday means no work.

Saturday also means I can go back into bed like I've always been destined to.

But then I'm having to halt my out of sync victory dance because a second more damning realisation hits me.

My breath hitches in my chest, a trickle of sweat rolls down my forehead just as a sort of ballooning feeling drops down my stomach.

Yesterday was June 6th. Today, by way of obvious chronology is...June 7th

Shit fuck shit

In fact let's revise today and call it my worst day of the year.

Even worse than when I accidentally reverse-parked into a cemetery plot and received a curse-filled omen from a religious relative or when I drunkenly declared my love to Ms Engelbert, my _very_ well-endowed Spanish teacher.

And on cue my phone starts incessantly vibrating, shaking the entire nightstand which elicits another groan from me. The screen began flashing every few seconds as new messages started sliding across it.

And now the dreaded messages that pseudo-celebrate my continuing existence on this planet. (UGH):

[Nicks]: Happy bday! You're nearly as old as my gran now!

[Polly]: Happy 35th! Or 34th? Either way you can probably qualify for pensioner discounts now ;) ;)

[Polly] Sorry *31st (I double-checked with your mom)

[Taystee]: Hang on in there, dude. My older sis is in her 40s and already suffers from arthritis. You can borrow her cream if you ever need it. She says it worked wonders.

[Poussey]: Happy birthday, Ol' Chaps.

[Cal] HBD, Pipes x PS: dad's asking when you're going to pay back that $400 you borrowed couple of months (sorry)

[Mom]: Are you married yet?

Kindly and gently lower me into the neatly dug grave that's been custom measured to my size.

UGH

.

.

.

At least Alex didn't know about this sacrilegious day. The only consolation I had on this matter. I'm not even sure where this hatred for this particular day came from. I think it must have happened somewhere between my 26th and 29th year - when I realised I'd passed a quarter of a century and had nothing but taxes and death waiting for me. Anyway, the hatred existed and was here to stay for another half a century at least.

The single worst thing that could now happen was a surprise birthday party.

.

.

.

"Surprise!"

There should be an unwritten rule over the number of candles allowed on birthday cakes, and the thirty something candles now lit on mine proved my point several times over. Taystee's face was just about visible above the small blazing inferno that was rapidly coming my way. There's a split-second where I have genuine concerns over the fire risk it posed when she stumbles slightly and was about an inch away from setting her hair alight and everything else in her surrounding vicinity.

I caught on pretty much straight away when Nicky rang me (she never rang) and awkwardly invited me to a quiet drink at the upmarket bar located just off central Manhattan. How my esteemed friends decided Nicky was the right person for subtlety and stealth was beyond me, but I let myself get dragged up to Indigo, pretending to be unsurprised when she asked me to put more make-up on and insisted I should wear my best dress to the place. The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge of being offered the biggest birthday present of all: free and infinite alcohol.

We're all sitting around a VIP reserved table tucked away from the main bar, while I waited for the worst part of the night.

And now came the age-old singsong...this is the part where my beautifully practiced fake-smile appears.

"...Happy birthday to you!"

"Thanks guys." I mutter in the most non-celebratory statement ever.

"Hey, P. I hope you don't mind, but we could only fit thirty on here, there wasn't enough space." Taystee adds apologetically.

Strike a girl when she's down why don't you?

I wave a dismissive hand, "Don't worry, Tay. I knew from age twenty that would be the case each year."

"Blow em out, Chaps!" Poussey enthusiastically exclaims, phone in hand, ready to film. Great now there's going to be photographic evidence of my inability in blowing out raging fires atop a circular block mostly made of icing and artificial preservatives.

"C'mon guys, she's gonna need lungs the size of an elephant to tackle this baby." She winks at me. "Let's give her a hand…after all lung capacity does decrease exponentially when past the age of twenty-five."

"And how old are you, Nichols?" I snapped.

"Old enough to be able to tell you that you still have shy of thirty-one candles to blow out."

With the sparks flying from the candles, if I shuttered one eye a little I could imagine her roasting in the fires of hell.

Steady on, these are you friends.

We hummed past the usual thing of asking birthday girl to make A Speech. After a few insistent nudges of the shoulder, I rambled over some tosh about keeping the 'energy' positive and yes that I can't wait for the next year where I can do this all over again. I then endured nightmare activities like ' _truth or dare'_ and ' _never have I ever' -_ although I had learnt an interesting thing or two about my friends.

"To life!" Nicky exclaims, holding her drink aloft, her face flushed and hair sprouting in all angles I never knew hair could.

"To life!" Everyone echoes back.

At this point I'll drink to anything: my broken table lamp, New York taxis, the stubborn stain on my LBD. Anything really.

"Hey Chapman, I've been meaning to ask where's your rocker girlfriend?"

I turn my head, "We're going to have our own private thing later." I improvise quickly but it's already too late when I realise how wrong that sounds - practically cake handed to Nicky on a platter.

"Oh okay." She winks at me. "I see."

"No not like that." I scramble forwards but wearily sit back down again, there's no point exercising logic with Nicky. "Whatever."

"Just before your liquor downfall…can you tell me whether she has a sister?" Nicky asks in a hopeful voice. "Preferably of the twin variety."

I lick the corner of my glass, and almost apologetically utter, "I don't think, sorry."

Her crestfallen face and puppy-eyes makes me stupidly blurt out, "She has a mother?"

"Seriously?"

Affronted I counter, "Didn't you date that premenopausal librarian once?"

Nicky rolls her eyes, "The operative word being _once,_ Chapman." She shudders, "I knew I should have avoided her when she told me her name was Gladys."

"She had a disability car, Nicks." Poussey snorts, nudging me as she declared this, as though I could give two ounces. "What did you guys even talk about? Compare your life insurance policies or something?"

That got the group howling with laughter even though Poussey's jab was only marginally funny.

Excess drink was known to have saved many a lame joke…alcohol the saviour of all.

Nicky simply shrugged her shoulders, taking a gulp of margarita. "What can I say, I don't discriminate based upon ability."

"Which translates into I was desperately horny and needed to get laid…so settled for the first non XY chromosome containing human who interacted with me." I say smoothly.

"Okay." Nicky puts her hand in front of her. "Enough of the roasting already, I'm already charred beyond recognition, jeez."

"Sorry. It's my hell day." I shrug my shoulders. "Sorry _birthday_ , which means I'm entitled to say anything, seeing as you guys subjected me to this nightmare."

Nicky narrows her eyes at me. "I think someone needs more alcohol."

"And that's the first agreeable thing you've said all night."

It's early evening and I'm satisfyingly buzzed, even allowing myself to relax and take in the ambience - which was mostly Taystee modelling her latest hairdo to a very beleaguered audience and Poussey trying to channel her inner Etta James with surprisingly good vocals I have to say.

While Nicky tried to attract the numerous single women seated at the bar with as much as finesse as me trying to explain to a deaf person that their car insurance was running out.

"Okay guys don't look…okay look now!" Nicky exclaims, yet again pointing out an attractive woman who was just walking by our table, this time an amazon-like brunette with legs that went on for days, "I mean ain't she a tall glass of water?"

"No uh." Taystee shakes her head, already having brushed up on her gay euphemisms. "Definitely not a softball player."

'She's wearing a flannel shirt and is sporting a pixie haircut…if that's not gay, I don't know what is." Nicky retorts.

"Your gaydar needs dialling to the right frequency, dude." Poussey adds.

"Well clearly yours is still in the beta version when you thought that church-going lady was batting for the other team." Nicky throws back as she swipes a glass from the infinite amount of drinks dotted around our table and takes an emphatic gulp. "I've been blowing off sapphic vibes since I was in the womb, baby."

"Ten to bet she ain't." Poussey slaps a ten dollar note down.

"Twenty says she is."

"Deal."

"This conversation is such progress for the LGBT movement."

"Shut it, Chapman. It's this baby _here_ that's in dire need of some movement." Nicky smirks, pointing at her nether regions. Everyone's already groaning and shaking their heads at this TMI declaration.

I think my eyes are going to need leashes to stop them from rolling away. As my mother who by the way is half human, half hair extensions and lies would say: if you haven't got anything nice to say don't say anything at all.

I'm painfully inclined to agree.

.

.

.

Speaking of decorum and being a lady of the highest standing; tonight I've just completed a science experiment looking into just how much alcohol someone can drink until either their liver explodes into smithereens or their body collapses into a heap of regrets and tears.

I'm at neither stage yet thankfully but close enough.

"God…what is this place?" I lamented. "The inside of a volcano? Why is it so hot?"

"That sounds like interesting opening scene of a really badly acted porno." Nicky sarcastically answers.

I think it must have been somewhere past midnight when the sight of birthday things triggered a sudden need to drown my sorrows or that I simply don't have any willpower to make simple adult decisions like don't say yes to drinks offered from five foot one people with forest like hair. (Nicky)

Add to that Poussey won that stupid bet which meant more drinks at the table. And to cut a long story short meant I'm now currently being escorted to my apartment by my lovingly caring friends.

My clothes feel like they're suffocating me from the outside in, the material mercilessly acting like a thermos and reminding me yet again of my world renowned stupidity over and over again.

I'm halfway through trying to clamber out of my dress when Nicky grabs my hands and curtails my impromptu undressing session.

"Okay when I said porno, I didn't mean reenact one now for me, fuck." She pulls my dress back down again, and semi-hoists me to my feet. I've literally turned into a boneless marionette incapable of two-legged walk.

My running mantra runs through: once a lightweight, always a lightweight. "Also try and not get naked before you've reached into your apartment, that's all I ask of you."

"Did I ever tell you, you're a meanie?"

"And now she's turned into a twelve year old. How many drunken alter-egos does this girl have?"

"There's still the ghetto girl from the Bronx and Blair from Gossip Girl imitations left." Poussey provides. "I think we've already gone through _thinks she might actually win american idol with her screechy singing voice_ and _scared single girl in an end of the world apocalypse."_

"Seriously?"

"Oh and the stern principal from a private school voice occasionally makes an appearance, but that one only happens between drink three and five, never before and never after. It's some freaky alcohol science"

"Stop talking about like I'm not here." I grumble listlessly.

"We're nearly here. Thank fuck, she's beginning to weigh an actual ton. P can you grab her other arm, mine's about to crack in half."

Offended, I try and sling my hand toward her, my semi-violent tendencies rearing their head again.

"Get off me! You smell like red wine and sexual repression."

"I'm sexually repressed?" I slur, incredulity vying for an indignant urge to correct her of just how many times I've _not_ been sexually repressed.

Nicky presses the elevator button, the doors slide open and we all squeeze inside. We're whizzing upwards causing my stomach to dangerously protest. Thankfully before I expel half a brewery's worth of liquor over all of us, we step outside. Well _they_ step out, I sort of half crawl, half stagger out.

"Keys?"

The hallway is barely lit, I'm struggling in identifying the keys in my purse. "Fuck why is it so dark?"

"That's what generally happens when it's night time." Nicky adds unhelpfully.

"And why is the floor getting closer?" I ask as I watch the floor reach up to me in complete dazed fascination.

"Oh fuck…that's 'cause you're falling. Damn it Chapman." Taystee makes a grab for my torso before I managed to complete my drunken descent to the floor.

Thankfully for the both of us, she catches me in time. "You sure nobody spiked this girl's drink? I swear she drank like a third of what we had?"

"I don't think she actually has a liver. I mean a fourth-grader has more alcohol tolerance than her." Nicky concludes.

"Featherlight she is." Taystee laughs.

" _No_ light. That's way way more accurate."

"No." I jab my fingers at them all in turn "It's because you're all alcoholics."

"Someone get her keys out of her bag."

"I've been told Ford doesn't make house-keys." I giggle into Taystee's hair, which I then smelt and complimented on her shampoo choice.

"Is it this one?" Poussey asks me.

"What this one?"

"Your apartment?" She asks, pointing at the door.

Lifting my head causes my vision to temporarily waver. I shut my eyes to stop them spinning in the well of a thousand tequilas and eventually glance at the door number, "Yeah this one."

Poussey struggles with the keys, pushing it in a few times but failing, "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yeah just keep trying."

A different voice joins in. "I think it might work with these, here let me."

My shoulders jerk upward and I almost jump back, a breathy gasp escaping from my mouth when my brain finally allows me to decipher the person behind the voice.

Alex casually pushes past us, smoothly produces a set of keys and pushes it into the door which by some miracle of science effortlessly opens.

My brain is finding that near impossible to compute, the others' heads whirling between me and Alex, expressions asking for an explanation I genuinely do not have.

"I hate to interrupt your little party gathering here but you're blocking my entrance." She says to no one in particular.

It's Nicky who finally speaks, "Wow, you're doing the whole lesbian U-haul thing now, Chapman? I guess a congrats is in order now." She tilts her head at Alex, "And to you too, obviously."

Alex shakes her head, "This is my apartment. I live here." She turns her head, "Piper, can you tell me why your friends are trying to break into my apartment?"

Sobriety kicks me right in the gut, and miraculously flushes away all traces of alcohol from my bloodstream. My head rears up just as I suddenly gain the ability to walk unaided again, my vision sharpening out with such clarity I'm partially amazed at my near instant recovery.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I must have misread the numbers forty-three for forty-five." Is all I manage to mutter as I force my eyes upward and catch the sight of Alex in her all Alex glory. She was dressed incongruously; dark grey v-neck and light brown jeans a la Lena Headey chronicling Sarah Connor. My stupidly stupid heart does its usual thing of beating that little harder and faster.

Retreat, need to retreat. It doesn't matter anyway because she has me trapped as usual. Target easily acquired.

She crosses her arms, speaking as though it was just the two of us here, instead of the small entourage of girl-folk / carers that surrounded me at the moment. "Now that we've established where we both live, where was my invitation?"

"It must have got lost in the post."

She chuckles. "I thought you were into the whole hand-delivering thing? That last letter of yours was so delightfully quirky."

I sense Nicky's eyebrows rising by the second, any longer, they'd be joining the nest that was her unruly hair, never to be found again.

"That was just a one-off." I blurt out, my voice high and stupid. Almost half a year later and I'm still acting like that frumpy teenage girl forced to finally talk to her super cool secret crush.

"That's a bummer, considering I've been waiting each night with bated breath for the next one. Unless tonight is the night?"

I have an inkling she may be exaggerating a great deal.

My voice takes on the uncanny impression of a beached dolphin squelching out its final cries for rescue. "What are you doing here?"

"I happen to live here."

"But what are you doing here, now?"

"Trying to get into my apartment but unfortunately unable to do so at this given moment."

"Are we interrupting something here?" Poussey asks hesitantly, vocalising the expressions of everyone here except Alex and I.

The very last impression I wanted to make on Alex was her thinking I'm a borderline alcoholic, this bumping in corridors in an intoxicated state just had to stop.

I'm sober enough to appreciate her presence though. She was giving me a sultry wink with a slight tilt at the lips, and I knew that's what she used to make the panties drop. The joke's on her - little did she know I wasn't wearing any.

"Thank you for your help guys but I'll take it from here." Alex announces.

A second later I feel myself being transferred from my friends' possession into Alex's. God, her arms felt just like home. Not my emotionally cold childhood home, but the metaphorical house portrayed in Hollywood; you know the one full of love and baked cakes. That one but with just a hint of lust.

My stomach suddenly lurches ominously.

Oh fuck.

Don't be sick. Don't be sick.

I couldn't be certain but hurling all over the hallway carpet could possibly jeopardise my already problematic relationship with my landlord not to mention also push up the tally of embarrassing things I've done in my lifetime to about seventy-one (thousand).

Alex though, blissfully unaware of my imminent vomitous calamity helps me into her apartment. I clung to her, nestling into her shoulder, inhaling her smell. It helped with the nausea.

She decided that the best place for my recuperation would be at her's and I didn't mind one bit. I had an interesting ten minutes where I was wrestled out of my sweaty bondage dress and put into comfortable slacks and tee which instantly became my favourite pieces of clothing - partly because they smelt of Alex and were also ideal pieces of clothing for lying into the foetal position.

I stole a few minutes in front of the mirror, fluffing up my hair and examining my teeth for any wayward food particles while Alex poured me a glass of water in the kitchen. I stand back and let out a laugh. Who the fuck was I kidding? I was way past looking presentable - I mean I was on the verge of being mistaken for a particularly weathered homeless person who happened to have scavenged an expensive Chanel bag.

"You look fine." Alex's disputes behind me, her reflection joining my own.

I turn around. "I don't know what your perception of fine is, Alex. I look semi-dead for god's sake."

"Shut up and take this." She pushes a glass of water into my hand. "Now come and sit down.

"It's alright I can manage." I've embarrassed myself enough this evening, the least I can try to do is walk from A to B independently.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little tipsy. All fine and dandy."

But carpet edges apparently are my new enemy now because I haven't even completed a full three steps when my foot catches the edge of the throw carpet.

"Alex, I'm falling!"

"Falling for me?" She enthuses gaily, her back to me, oblivious to what was going to happen. "Yeah I kinda knew that already."

"No _actually_ physically falling!"

I don't even have the capability to properly fall but even worse is that Alex was stood in my direct fall trajectory and I can already envisage the carnage I'm about to cause.

She turns around, an expression of surprise crossing her face, "Oh shit you are!"

No sooner was that concluded, I'm hurtling through the air, slamming heavily against her and knocking her off her feet. My momentum sends us both tumbling to the floor causing us to land in a jumble of tangled limbs and semi-dazed expressions. Alex's glasses are knocked off, a _fuck_ escaping from her mouth, while my head was thankfully cushioned by her torso.

Add to that, the water from my glass had rained all over us, soaking us. "You were saying?" She laughs breathlessly.

Groaning in piteous drunken agony I slowly lift my head, meeting Alex's bemused stare and mutter my heartfelt apologies, "Are you okay? I'm really sorry - that was not the way I expected things to go."

Roses are red. Violets are blue. I'm drunk and stupid, and you know it too. ( _sigh)_

"You really have to stop making a habit of this." Alex remarks, wiping water droplets from my face and tucking a stray wet strand of hair behind my ear. "It's my fault I should have known you have a tendency to become one with floors."

I'm trying to think above the mindless chatter that was my inundated brain but I'm afraid I don't have the capacity to come up with a witty rejoinder. "I guess it's an unfortunate condition I suffer from."

"But my optimism is unfailing...you see I always see the good in everything." Alex begins, rolling over and sort of draping herself over me, bits of carpet fluff decorating her hair, water streaked across her cheeks, "Including just how perfect you look on my floor, in my clothes may I add." She pushes her glasses back on her face, "It seems to triggers something inside me."

"Does it?" I near enough yelp.

She closes her lips over mine, the kiss sweet and teasing all at once. "Oh yes. God bless your two left feet."

"Amen." I close my eyes, letting myself fall into the warmth of those lips, my own blazing to life, the jolt of it leaving me winded and dizzy.

.

.

.

After a joint herculean effort we conclude that carpets although soft and inviting are not the best form of furniture to try out my tolerance for not spewing all over the place.

Alex helps me to the sofa, having renewed my glass of water which had perished in the midst of my fall.

She sat beside me, "So I'm assuming a quiet night in was off the books?"

"You can blame those people." I vaguely point at the door with my glass-holding hand, causing half its contents to slosh out. "I didn't ask for any of this."

"Special occasion?"

"It's June 7th."

"Come again?" She asks confusedly.

"My birthday."

She raises her eyebrows, "Why does it sound like you've just been told what your funeral date is going to be?"

"Aversion to birthdays, I guess."

Alex exhaled a laugh, and I smiled a little, not wanting to but not able to help it.

"Oh and thanks for taking me into your refuge, you didn't have to do that."

She squeezed my thigh, motioning me closer, "Considering I've become a somewhat of an expert in man-handling your drunken ass I thought I'd be the best person for the job."

"It's all a bit deja vu, isn't it?" I sheepishly ask.

"How so?"

"All that's missing is a bag of trash and this is like a replay of our first proper encounter."

"Wouldn't you have it, we've actually come full circle."

"Minus your trespassing and acting like such a pain in the ass, we really have come full circle."

Alex wraps her arms around my shoulder, "I'm going to let that one slide since you're drunk and probably won't remember most of this by tomorrow morning."

An overwhelming exhaustion suddenly bears over me, causing me to nearly fold in on myself, I'm half-draped over Alex's legs, savouring the softness of her sweats, "God you're so soft and warm. But mostly warm...and soft." I murmur into the fabric, my eyes closed, "It's like I'm living inside a giant marshmallow."

Her fingers rake through my hair, all soft and fond, "Just how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Enough to sustain a small Mexican village."

"That much huh?"

"More than enough to make me forget I'm nearly old enough to be sold as a piece of antique" I wail, my voice about forty decibels too low for normal conversation, "Jesus, you smell so good as well."

My awfully handsy hands reach, the fingertips barely grazing against the side of Alex's thigh - far too close to the inner aspect of it.

"I think your hand is in the wrong place."

"Is it?" I sigh dramatically.

"Positive."

"Well pardon mmeeeeeee..I hadn't realised some parts of your body had restricted access."

"I'm afraid tonight there are many."

"I promise I've got ID _and_ I've got thirty one burnt candles to prove my age as well. Does that allow me through?"

Alex laughs and places my hands back to me again, "I really think it's time for you to reunite with a bed again."

"No." I murmur childishly, "I like it here."

"Pipes, you'll kick yourself tomorrow when you wake up with a ton of regret and a giant headache." Alex says with a concerned voice.

I'm defiantly staving off sleep, because I hadn't realised - but the exact feeling of Alex's hands stroking my face was something I apparently needed my entire life. There was something so intensely tender about unthinking touches, that made me not want to lose any contact with her _ever._

"Never been more sure in my whole entire life." I say as consciousness begins to leave me through a liquor filled haze. "Also very sure that you're the best person I know - mainly because you have a beanbag in your apartment and you know how comfortable beanbags are which makes you the best person I know."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yeah.' I mumble under my breath, "And I don't think I ever told you but when I came to your door that first ever time, I secretly hoped you'd kiss me because you just looked so kissable, y'know?"

I craned my head at Alex but only managed to lift it by about an inch and immediately gave up, my head slumping back onto her lap.

"So I _was_ right all along." Alex chuckled.

"Maybe."

We fall into a silent void, the darkness and quiet a welcome relief from the loud bass and disco lights I had to live through at the bar. That now seemed light years away.

I grab onto my only lucid thought, "Alex?'

"Mmm?"

"I _have_ told you you're nice, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did."

"I just wanted to say it again just in case I hadn't."

"That's real thoughtful of you."

"And thanks for the clothes."

"Not a problem, kid."

"I haven't ruined your night, have I?"

"Not at all."

"Sorry anyway. Hope your carpet is alright as well."

"Pipes, go to sleep."

"Al?"

"Yeah?"

"Just keep being nice, 'kay?"

I can feel darkness tugging at me, beckoning me toward comfortable oblivion, the pull of it so impossible to resist.

At this point Alex whispers something — something that would have made my heart hitch and my mouth to go dry had I been stone-cold sober. But I'm drunk and slightly delirious and on the brink of a full blackout so I must have misheard / imagined / conjured it up.

After all four letter words with "I" in front and "you" after, are the stuff of dreams and I'm obviously dreaming.

Of course.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

"Look up."

We were nestled together on the sofa at Alex's, still in our pyjamas watching random weekend movies on the cable. It was one of those lazy mornings where we both by some miracle didn't have any work to do or had any imminent plans for the day ahead. It was lovely.

"If it's that again..." I sighed already knowing what was coming. My lips are pursed but a smile was already waiting to burst out. "Alex you honestly need to stop this now."

She'd been dangling that goddamn misletoe over my head more times than I could ever count. And Christmas was still about five months away.

"You haven't even looked up. I could be alerting you to a giant ass spider on the ceiling."

"Seriously?"

"But what if said spider is now weaving its web right over your head?" She smiles a smile that told me she'd won me over.

Sighing I look up, "Okay this is literally the last time." I say for possibly the dozenth time over the course of this last week. This girl was just ridiculous.

But Alex is already punctuating my perfunctory plea with a kiss before I could say anything else on the matter which to be fair was a good thing.

Once again the universal law of Alex kissing me dictated that no kiss should ever last less than two minutes.

"One more." Alex teases

I'm raising my eyebrows in mock solemnity.

"Please?" She grins, cocking her head in an exaggerated school girl pose, "I mean look at my heart eyes."

That won the deal.

I'm not even going to bother arguing, and roll my eyes instead, already feeling an endearing smile cross my cheeks.

When did I become such a fluffy sop? Careful these are the starter signs of established couples who jointly complain about the quality of their local grocery's cheese and finish off each other's sentences.

"You're the single most-"

"Hottest person you know?" Alex finishes.

Slight correction, we may already be there.

"I was actually going to say you're the single most persistent person I know and you _may_ also be that other thing."

She sits back, stretching her back, "You _can_ say it you know."

"I would...but I'm just concerned you'll break your back if your ego grows any more. Surely it must be weighing a ton or so by now?

"A little extra can't hurt."

"But you've reached critical levels. It's really starting to worry me."

"I appreciate the immense concern for my back but..." I stop her there and arch forwards brushing my lips against hers but now Alex is totally just laughing into the kiss so that it wasn't even a kiss anymore, but more a collision of teeth and noses

"Happy?"

"C'mon that wasn't even a proper one."

I'm sideyeing the TV, "Al, we're actually missing the best part of the film."

She scoffs, "Like we've not seen a hundred times before, actually it's more accurate to say that _you've_ seen this a hundred times, I've just been forced to watch with you."

"So that dreamy look you get every time Rachel Weisz waltzes onto the screen is someone who doesn't like what they're watching?"

Alex tilts her head, "I _do_ not. Also apart from Rachel the rest of the movie is pretty fucking abominable."

"It's won an Oscar."

"Rachel Weisz's Oscar you mean?"

"The real question is are you cheating on me with Rachel Weisz?"

"Am I detecting the barest hint of jealousy?" Alex cockily smirks. "Because it really doesn't suit your face, babes."

I'm going to have to hold that thought because the shrill tone of my phone suddenly disturbs the atmosphere, the noise sounding much more demanding than usual.

"Just leave it."

But it's when the ringing fills the room for a third consecutive time that I force myself to dig it out from beneath the upholstery and press the answer button.

"Hello?" I answered, my irritation so obvious.

"It's been three whole weeks, Chapman."

My mouth freezes in place, my irritation rapidly replaced by a horrible bout of Red-itis (my aversion to all things red: including my actual boss Red)

"Red?" I blurt out. "I mean Boss?"

"Were you expecting someone else?"

"No no, of-."

She cuts me off, clearly already sick of hearing my voice, "My patience dried up about two weeks ago and I'm starting to think whether this whole thing is just one big joke to you or that your blonde brain cells just lack the capability of taking this seriously."

"Of course it does-"

"I didn't say I finished talking." I swear I could hear the gritting of her teeth through the earpiece and it takes actual effort not to hurl my phone across the room like a grenade that's just been set off. "If you even had a gram of respect for me..."

"I have the utmost respect for you-"

 _I had kilos of it, tons of it!_

"You would if you stopped interrupting me."

"Sorry, boss."

Alex looked away from the television and fixed me with a probing gaze, her eyes all narrowed and concerned, and miming 'what's wrong?' to me. I shake my head nonchalantly, like it's no big deal my mafia boss is just terrorising me over the phone...just no big fucking fat deal.

"Haven is sinking and if you even think for a second that I'm going to throw you a life jacket when that happens - well then you don't know me at all."

I rapidly nod into the phone before dumbly realising she can't hear that, "It's not going to sink, boss" I gravel out with some forced enthusiasm.

"Chapman, I'm disappointed." Red continues without giving me the barest hint that she's acknowledged anything that I've said so far, "Really, I am."

Disappointed?

What am I a toddler now? And why did that sound like much more than citing disappointment and more like a firing? By firing I don't mean the getting thrown out of a job thing but more that I'm stood in front of a firing squad. Which seems much more probable in this situation.

I tried and failed to keep my voice as calm, "I'll have it sorted by the end of the week."

" _No._ Not the end of the week. Not the end of the day. _Now."_

"But that's too-"

Except the line had gone dead, nothing but the belligerent dialling tone galling my ears. Open-mouthed I dumbly stare at the phone, the screen stubbornly dark.

"You okay?" Alex looks at me, eyes bewildered.

Still staring at my phone, I automatically mutter, "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

I tried to make my voice go all casual but I failed at the 'be'.

"Because you look like you're about to throw up and I unfortunately I know what your throwing up face looks like."

The accuracy of that was too painful - almost as painful as Red's voice still grinding in my ears.

"It's just work." I mumble, throwing a dismissive hand. "You know how it is."

"Sounded more than just a minor thing to me."

Hesitation strikes me down.

Realising this might be my best opportunity to broach the subject again, I grab hold of Alex's sympathy and force myself to take the chance now. "Alex..." I fight the urge telling me to back down but with each passing moment it starts making more sense in my head. "Remember that Haven situation from a couple of weeks back?"

And just like that her body language changes. "When I caught you prying through my laptop you mean?"

"I ummm..." I looked at the clock: today still had six hours left. Six hours. I could tell her in six hours and it'd still be today, it didn't have to be now _now._

 _"_ Piper, I know I over-reacted that day but that still doesn't change the fact you were snooping through Excelsiors business accounts because your so called boss asked you to."

"It wasn't like that..." I start. "Alex, you know it was not like that at all."

I can feel Alex pulling away. There was a small but perceptible gap between us now, and I suddenly felt really sick. I was ruining it. I shouldn't have said anything, I shouldn't have even answered the fucking phone.

Her face relaxes, "Anyway, let's leave that in the past, what's she saying now?"

"That I should ask you again."

"Okay..." Alex ponders over that for a minute. "And what do you get out of this?"

"The prospect of keeping my job and if I do, possibly be made partner."

"Right, hang on fire." She walks to the lounge and grabs her laptop before returning, "What's Haven's projected gross profit this financial year?"

"Alex-"

She shoots me a look, "Piper, I'm only doing this because it benefits you and for you only. And even more so to get your boss off your back and leave you in peace. So let me calculate this out and work something for you, yeah?"

I capture her eyes, communicating a silent thank you. "Okay."

"Okay, so Haven's estimated quarterly profits after tax and not accounting for any overheads or operating costs?"

"You do realise that the person you're asking is someone who until recently found out the difference between gross and net profit?" I tease, my voice cusped on the verge of crying. "Ask me about 17th century English or the history of the Smithsonian museum, then I'm your girl."

I'm just relieved, okay?

Partly because I now no longer have to jump and hide in painfully small closets or squeeze myself into the narrow space between Haven's industrialised ovens whenever Red decided to make an appearance.

"Okay, okay." Alex declares. "Tell you what; bring the blueprint of the restaurant's monthly balance sheets to my office next week and we'll go over the finances and account stuff then, and hopefully I'll have drafted something by the end of the following week. Deal?"

"Deal."

.

.

.

I'm stood in front a giant revolving sign engraved with Excelsior that was perched on top of a large marble pillar - and it's when I have to walk at least another quarter of a mile before I reached its entrance - do I realise this place was humongous. I have to arch my neck almost ninety degrees to even catch a glimpse at the top of the building.

Stepping into the large foyer I have to hold in another gasp; the place was floor to ceiling glass galore, fitted with elaborate chandeliers that appeared as though they were suspended freely, the marble floors so shiny I couldn't avoid my own washed out reflection.

I blithely realise I'm severely undressed and also underpaid by the looks of things. The sentiment must also have been echoed by the burly security man stood beside the doors who was narrowing his eyes at me with barely concealed suspicion.

I'm almost inclined to check my clothes: do I have the words _not from here_ emblazoned across it or something? And more to the point what's with the over top James Bond-esque security around the place?

Humans in sharp suits clutching sharp shaped satchels with equally sharp cheekbones rushed around me in a scurry. An unyielding tide of them streamed past me, not one person bearing eye contact with me. I'm in some sort of industrialised version of Twilight Zone.

Finally, I reach the main reception desk manned by more angular robotic types with piercing gazes and jabbering away in corporate speak. Maybe it's the fifty foot marble pillars that adorned the place, or maybe it's the reflection of a million Rolex watches blinding my eyes or simply the fact that my jean wearing self seemed as out of place as a lamb thrown into a lion enclosure. Regardless, I'm feeling way out of my depth and debate whether to text Alex and tell her to meet me instead of the other way round.

"What can I do for you?"

My head swivels up - meeting a woman stood behind the desk already showing signs of impatience.

"I'm here to see Alex Vause...sorry _Atwood."_

"Name?" She barked.

"Piper Chapman."

"ID?"

I let out a semi-nervous laugh, "I feel like I'm entering a CIA facility, next you're going to ask me whether I have a gun or something."

Okay, not the most wise choice of humour in these parts.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you have any items in your possession that could be considered weapons or have the capability to be weaponised?" She asks in a shrill voice, completely ignoring my earlier question.

She's probably milliseconds away from pressing some silent alarm underneath the desk that would send in an army of SWAT personnel and half of New York's police department, so I quickly correct her, "I was just kidding."

Plus the only thing of any threat to human life in my bag is the three year old mascara I've been meaning to throw out for eons.

"We'll put your bag through X-RAY just to confirm your answers." She says with a mistrustful lilt in her voice.

Where is this American liberty thing everyone keeps talking about?

"ID?"

I fish out my license and hand it to her. She flicks it open aggressively, like it had just spat in her face and told her she smelt like a dying fish.

"Very well. Please sit down while I verify your credentials."

I was too highly strung to make a joke and say something like, "You sound like something from the Matrix _ha ha ha_."

Instead I sit down as instructed, and wait.

"You must be Piper Chapman?"

It hadn't even been a minute when a different lady addresses me and beckons me to come with her. "Yes."

"Come follow me."

She already starts walking away, high heels clacking against the marble. We travel through long corridors, climb a few stairs before eventually coming to an open spaced area dotted with several elevators.

She smiles at me - the kind of smile that was corporate - you know close lipped and generic with a dash of I'm better than you.

"How was your journey?'

"Fine thanks."

At least she's nicer than _Mrs bulldog chewing a wasp_ face.

Stepping into the elevator she pushes a button and up we went, whizzing past countless floors taking us higher and higher. It's a minute later when we step out and reach an identically clad out area, this time with a large desk where an equally stern looking woman sat. "You must be Piper. How nice to meet you, I've heard great things about you."

My internal smile is going to wreak havoc with my insides.

I don't know what Alex has been saying about me or what descriptors she's used but whatever it was, it had people going out of their way to help me and present me their best smiles - albeit a bit on the fake side. I walk a little straighter, head held high and damn pleased at my new found micro-fame.

"You can go through to her."

She beckons me toward an oak door engraved with Alex's name and pushes it open for me.

—

I push the door fully open, greeted by a giant office with possibly the largest desk I've ever seen. I mean it was so big it looked like a goddamn podium stationed in a theatre hall. Full plays could be conducted right on it.

My eyes like what they're seeing.

The office space itself seemed very Alex: dark and sophisticated, and laced with hidden sexuality. The deep coloured walls complimented the monochrome theme of the furniture and the various interspersed abstract paintings added dimension.

"I'm getting sudden boss/secretary role-play vibes here." Alex chuckles, lifting her feet off the desk when she catches sight of me, hastily pushing the cigarette she was smoking into the ashtray before her.

I'm not going to give in that easily, even though that familiar instant happiness was threatening to overwhelm me. "Is that how you see our relationship? On such uneven grounds?" I challenge semi-insulted. "Unless I'm the boss and you're the secretary in this instance, because-"

A knowing chuckle cuts the narrative short, "You can be whatever you want, Pipes…as long as it involves me and you."

I'm such a louse at remaining indignant, and already find myself giving in so easily to her annoyingly workable charms.

I step further in, my eye catching a towering figure to my right. It was an interesting porcelain statue of a very anatomically detailed woman, perched atop a bronze weight.

Alex follows my gaze and smirked, "It's a substitute."

"Sorry?"

"It's until I can 3D print your body. It's all a work in progress."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"I have photographic memory remember?" Alex closes her laptop and stacks a sheaf of paper together before filing them away. "I've already imprinted every inch of your body, right here." She points at her temple. "Like for instance; how you have this cute mole just under your right breast."

Alex grins at my defiantly affronted expression, and without breaking a sweat, strolls toward me, giving me a fleeting second to admire her form-fitting jeans and tee. A welcome relief of attire after having to wade through ironed shirts and tailored suits. I liked how she didn't care to conform to the overall clinical atmosphere of the place

Plus Alex always looked so good and ready to pillage me senseless.

I'm still glued to the door, fighting the sudden urge to confirm my mole's alleged location.

"I could _show_ it to you if you like?"

I tried to ignore the suggestive inflection to her voice and the way her finger, with its dark varnish, had reached out and tapped me at the word "show" and was now slowly trailing its way down my chest.

"No thanks."

"And how sure are you?"

"So very truly sure."

My back is scraping against the door, and I think with any more I'm close to causing a hole shaped me to be punched through it.

I wanted to inform Alex that although the idea was incredibly appealing and would sure lead onto other things that I would very much like - the appropriateness of that would also be a spectacularly bad idea.

My heart duly moved down, flitting erratically as she slid her hands around my waist, gently pushing me back against the door and taking my mouth into a fully-fledged kiss, undeterred by our surroundings.

"In all seriousness though." She whispers in my ear. "How do you manage to look even better than the last time I saw you?"

I'm blushing furiously, my cheeks already reaching their melting point, "Because the last time you properly saw me was when I was dodging mutant beetles and had bits of forest in my hair. Not my greatest look."

Alex chuckles, stroking my face affectionately, " I don't know about you but I liked the au naturel look, very authentic, twigs in hair and all."

"Minus the mutant beetles of course.

"I thought they added a certain nuance to the whole look, don't you think?"

"Now you're just speaking out of your ass." I grabbed her face and plunged my mouth against hers, I'd been growing impatient from all the talking that was going on. For the love of God, I hadn't seen Alex since our nature escapades which had been a whole forty-eight hours ago. I'm already getting frustrated from the minute of non-contact, more so than that person who'd trekked miles of desert and still hadn't discovered that elusive fountain of water.

She's read my mind, because the onslaught is turned right up; she prises my mouth open, sliding her tongue inside of me, slow and sure. I'm tasting mint, cigarettes and heat and that familiar yet adrenaline releasing promise of what was to come, and would make _me_ come.

A sliver of sense manages to make its way into my chaos of a brain, reminding me I've come here for purely platonic reasons, something I've conveniently forgotten the instance I stepped into her lair nay office.

Clearly, I had to be the sense for the both of us since Alex made no signs of backing off, and my feeble efforts proved to be of no match.

"I think we should…"

A kiss there.

"If I could just reach my bag and show you the papers…"

A hand here. Precarious.

"It'll only take a few hours…"

A moan there.

"Let's give the papers a rest for a few minutes, what do you think?" Alex says with a calm voice, her index fingers tracing my mouth, looking at me with eyes that yielded the power to make me forget my own name and scream hers out.

It's all I can do but meekly nod, trying to ignore the flames that licked at my lips, brought to the fore by just that little touch.

Hands are freely roaming, mouths are throbbing, and centres are praying for more, _more more._

 _"_ Did you get here alright?" Alex asks momentarily disrupting my journey to sex-filled nirvana.

"Mmmhmm." I say with barely clenched teeth, ready to throw myself back into the heat.

"Wasn't too difficult?"

My eyes break open, "Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Honestly, you've got to stop talking."

"Right."

"For the record no it wasn't alright…I had to make acquaintances with your many receptionists who I'm now beginning to think are just holograms or just people without souls, and don't even get me started on the futuristic Star Trek decor this place has going on, I mean at one point I thought I'd been transported to a dystopian world filled with suit-wearing robots. It was really stressful."

"That must have been really hard" Alex's voice was dark and dangerous, a lilt in her voice tautening the net of intimacy, "I can only apologise for inflicting so much distress."

I feign offence at her non-sincerity but that's quickly abandoned when I feel her lips make contact with me, which was what I really wanted. They were touching that specifically erogenous region just beneath my neck sending me into a cataclysm of electrical activity. "It really was." I muttered merrily. "I even had to catch a train to get here."

"Did you now?"

"So many stops and platforms."

"So so many."

"And the heat, ergh."

"The tragedy."

"Come to think of it, have you ever been on a train?" I tilt my head back — Alex's face a picture of amusement at my question.

"What and mix with all the common folk? I'm on perfectly good terms with John my chauffeur who's doing well at keeping the riffraff of New York away from me."

"The arrogance is simply astounding."

"Tell you what." Hot warm breath coasted over my jaw, intermixed with languid kisses that made my legs turn into soup and my eyes cross. She liked to invade me, entirely and without apology, "I'll catch the train back with you, how about that?"

She can do what she likes.

Because incidentally we're on the train already, same carriage in fact and wouldn't you have it…we both have tickets for destination rip my clothes off and just take me already.

"What do you say?"

"Well you better hurry up because the last train's in an hour."

"Well we better get started then."

"The paperwork?" I arch my head back, giving her slightly more space to destroy me. My actions at complete odds with my epically half-hearted suggestion.

"I'm sure that can wait until another time."

A dark laugh against my lips and I knew I was done for.

I asked.

and I got.

I'll have to conclude and say public transport sometimes does have its specific benefits.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

"We're so going to be like those old couples who call out young people under their breaths"

The reflexive comment lingers in the air for several seconds, quietening the night sounds ever further. Neither of us speaks, but it's Alex who shifts uncomfortably, her hands changing position every few seconds.

I can't help but inwardly smile, because it's so inexplicably comforting to know Alex too has her own inhibitions and insecurities.

Alex decided that I'm missing out on a great deal by not witnessing the 'spectacular sunset' of Manhattan in late summer, and truth be told she hadn't disappointed me when we ambled through Derwent Park - one of the lesser known green spots in New York but arguably boasted better views and - had like she said wowed me with a truly breathtaking sunset.

Like I've concluded before I've been living under a rock before I met Alex.

"Speaking of old age." I counter trying to diffuse the sudden change in mood. "I can almost guarantee we'll eventually develop a joint love for soup and all things pureed."

Alex chuckles, "Is this before or after we attend our three-yearly colonoscopies?"

"I think it's just after our dental appointments when we've had our top of the range dentures fitted."

" _You're_ going to be the one with dentures."

"And _you're_ going to be that one old person who has to let everybody know they used to ride a bike - dangerously may I add."

Alex scoffs and gently swats me on the shoulder, "Who says I'll have stopped riding?"

"Then we'll have to clear the streets and evacuate any pedestrians who are in the immediate vicinity."

"Ageist."

"And no I'm not going to ride pillion with you either."

"Wasn't going to ask you anyway 'cause you'll be too busy tending to your arthritic knees, babes."

We both look at each other and burst into a gale of laughter.

I tossed out a prayer that we'll someday both be living our content, lesbian lives, preferably in a quaint little country-side cottage that overlooked the Atlantic.

We strolled through the park, the gentle breeze of mellow summer warmth whipping through our hair and clothes. The sounds of city life slowly dissipating away the further we went, the eventual silence a welcome presence. The park opened up into a large open space, trees surrounding us, their branches gently swaying - the threads of orange sundown light now and then flickering through.

A worn path lined with neatly placed boulders led us past small meandering creeks, patches of vibrant grassland that glittered in the dusk light, before it eventually sloped downwards and revealed to us the lake that had lain hidden just beyond a group of pine trees. It truly did look breathtaking, a body of water so still it almost appeared as though it was glowing.

"Wow, it's beautiful." I exclaim, stating the obvious.

"Isn't it?" Alex beamed. "Not many people know of this place."

She points at a narrow footpath circling the lake that wound up slightly uphill until it disappeared into the fading dusk light. "Wait until we got to the other side of it - it get's even better trust me."

There's more?

After a rather arduous ten minute walk, we emerged into a cavern like opening; the sheer enormity of the lake suddenly revealed to us. Mountainous cliff sides rose up from its surface, their rocky surface glinting in the moonlight from the thousands upon thousands of minerals embedded in it. The speckling effect looked as though the walls were alive. I've never seen anything like it. My brain went on pause, it required all the mental space to commit something so surreal to memory.

"Amazing, huh?"

I turned away from the view, "Are you sure we're not in some sort of fairyland or something?" I whispered, not wanting to disrupt the serenity and slightly overwhelmed.

"You can call it whatever you want."

Fairy worlds didn't exist. There was no such thing as magic, just Alex, just really _really_ lovely Alex who had taken me on an adventure of our own making and brought me to places I could only dream of. I just wanted to kiss her...so badly that I almost couldn't stand. I couldn't stop looking at her. The manner in which her face was beaming, so happy that _I_ was happy.

Her hand reaches out and grabs mine, taking me under the canopy of a large pine tree, the moonlight swallowed whole, throwing us into complete darkness. Hands suddenly grab my waist and push me against the bark of the tree.

"Timing, location and company could not be more perfect in this present time." She murmurs into my neck, causing all sorts of things to become ignited.

I don't trust my own voice, so settle for a barely there nod.

"Me too." She says.

"Me too, what"

"I want to kiss you as well."

Grateful for the dark, half-blushing, I mutter, "I was not thinking that at all."

"I think we can remedy that thought fairly quickly." Alex whispers, catching my lips with teasing bites, gently pushing me back, the sound of rustling leaves above us not able to drown out my hammering heartbeat.

"You are now." She slides her hands under my top and runs her fingers over the valley of my spine. "And let's face it you were before."

"I wanted...nothing...of the sorts." I half-heartedly murmured between kisses. Her hair is tickling my nose, and I fight to keep my hands to myself but that only lasts for about a second as I feel them lifting and run them through her hair, desperate to grab hold of any part of her.

"Of course." She chuckled into my neck, feeling her smile imprinted into my skin,seeing right through me. Alex bends down to kiss the hollow of my neck. I have no real choice but to incline my head toward her. Nature, heat and want, ran straight up my nose and invaded my brain, causing everything to become slightly fuzzy.

* * *

"Hang on." Alex says.

She returns a few seconds later clutching a pebble and holds it aloft, "I feel like we need to make this night a permanent reminder."

"How so?"

"By becoming soppy and cringeworthy of course."

"Sounds right up my street."

"I'm glad." She walks up to the large pine tree my back had been grinding against not ten minutes ago, and starts carving into it.

"Really?" When I realise what she's planning on. "How old are we?"

"Young enough to not be that very old."

"Smart-ass." I lean over her shoulders, watching the carvery work slowly take shape.

"Ta-da!"

Alex tilts her head back inspecting her piece of work before beckoning me to have a look as well:

 _PC + AV_

"What would people think of that? " I ask chuckling as I read it. "It doesn't exactly reflect the strict exec motif you've got going on."

"And that's why this stays between you and me."

"Scared people will think you're not the terrifying woman boss they all think you are?"

"You saw right through the act, huh?" She asks, a smile breaking out. "Think I have to work harder."

"No you moron, the second you made me breakfast in bed I knew you were an old romantic at heart."

"It's a good job I don't make breakfast in bed for my employees then, now _that_ definitely would turn a few heads." Alex chuckled.

Beneath the tease, I'm struggling with the avalanche of emotions roiling inside me — I've never believed in all that mystic nonsense of pheromones and aphrodisiac concoctions supposedly attracting people to each other.

But nothing.

Absolutely nothing beats the feeling of momentary happiness I'm hit by when Alex pulls me into her side, snuggling me to her and gently links our fingers together. Unchecked tenderness courses through me, the enormity and strength of the sudden swill in emotion startling me.

"Also for the record this really does stay between us."

* * *

We eventually sat on a small bench overlooking the lake ringed by dense woodland and manicured shrubbery. The usual activity of families and joggers had disappeared for the evening - leaving the place empty and silent. The faint silvery rays of the moon drifted over the surface of the lake, the last remnants of sun orange fading away as twilight slowly set in.

My gaze drifted to the lake - a gentle breeze brushed against the water's surface, the ripples unsettling the stillness of the surface, "Alex where are we?"

She glances at me, her face obscured by the shadows of overlying branches, "I would guess we're on planet earth but if you want me to more specific: we're in Derwent park currently sat on a bench."

"You know what I mean."

"Pipes, we're here in the moment and hopefully enjoying each other's company."

And I was but there was something that kept nagging at me.

"It's just that I was thinking of what you said about people just clicking and what's the point of dancing around each other ."

I could feel my guts tying themselves up into knots. The horribly tight shoelace kind of knots that are always so impossible to undo. I've had this strange feeling of late. That this _thing_ Alex and I had was somehow temporary, had an expiry date stamped on it, the date looming closer and closer the longer we'd been together. There was no rhyme or reason to it but that cold feeling of foreboding had reared its head more times than I cared to readily admit. I tried to bury it until it was eight foot under but apparently that wasn't deep enough.

"What's your point?"

I trip over my words, "I've just never had a good track record with long term relationships, never really getting to know the person properly, and I guess I've always thought the problem lay with me when they eventually left " A nervous laugh escapes me, "That sounded much less pathetic in my head."

Alex tilted her head, a question on her face, "Pipes, are you saying you're not ready for this?"

"No! Of course not."

"Then what? What's the problem?"

That's exactly it. What is the problem? I'm happy. More than happy. So happy my smiles had the potential to break apart my face.

I've always been taught happiness existed only in limited quantities and that there just wasn't enough to go round for everyone in the world. So be frugal with it, use it only sparingly to avoid eventual disappointment and heartbreak.

 _When things are too good to be true, question it or if you can't just abandon it_ my forever pessimistic mother would insistently preach.

I stood up just for wanting to occupy myself with something.

Alex stood up too.

I shake my head. Christ, I've got a super hot person here wanting to make me happy (successfully doing so), taking me on forest walks, laughs at my shockingly bad jokes _voluntarily,_ and offers me foot massages amongst a thousand other things. What is wrong with me?

We watched the ripples gently eddying toward the edge of the lake until Alex broke the silence, clasping her hand around mine, "I'm not going to force you into anything, Piper. I'm more than happy waiting for you to feel ready and if that's going to take a thousand years, so be it because I'll always be here waiting."

Trust Alex to completely turn my thoughts on their head in a matter of seconds and then some. She really did deserve an A+.

"But then I'll be old and gross." I murmur softly.

"Well then we'll be old and gross _together_." She says emphatically.

"Her words provoke a rush of emotion, "Alex, do you really mean that?"

"Truth?"

"Hmmm."

"I _did_ want to run away from you ever since I found out you love watching Desperate Housewives because I'm not sure I have a tolerance that stretches so far." Her lips bear the semblance of a smile. "But you do make a mean pasta melt so I guess I have no choice but to stick around."

"I'm in a vulnerable place right now, you know." I say jokily, leaning into her and slipping my hands underneath her arm.

She licked her lips, "As much as you try, you do know you can't escape from me that easily."

Alex says it so genuinely - I don't really have an adequate response.

"Look Piper." Alex finds my hand in the dark and grabs hold of it. "I've never really held any serious relationships. I've always had this personal thing of there's no such thing as the right person or the possibility of meeting someone who can sweep you off your feet so what's the point of opening your heart up or turning it serious when it's all set to fail anyway? And this thing with your previous relationships failing, well this one's different by simply not being one of your previous relationships."

She lifts her gaze to look at me, all vigorous and wholehearted.

I'm feeling lightheaded all of a sudden, it's the temperature, way _way_ too high, and god there's just not enough oxygen in this place, what on earth.

Alex leans forward, her breath tickling my nose. "But I have come to find out that all this is with the exception of a certain neighbour who has an over the top aversion to abandoned trash piles and is also the owner of some devastatingly sexy lingerie." She says teasingly with a voice that could melt, well anything.

My brain was most certainly amongst meltable things, seeing as I felt it oozing out of my ears, rendering me senseless, speechless and/or in a state of complete infatuation. I swear this woman's an expert on keeping my heart beating, because without her I'm sure it would simply stop.

Alex's face turns earnest, "And you know what? In all seriousness I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to."

"Why not?"

I felt her hesitate in the dark. Slivers of moonlight filtered through the branches casting us both under a zigzag of light. And you know what? Of all the things I was expecting her to say this was so _so_ not it.

"Because I think..." Alex looked away before turning back to me with a small smile, pausing for so long I thought she might not finish. But suddenly the rest comes out in a rush. "...Because I think I'm in love with you."

That robs the speech from me.

That causes my heart to free fall through my body and land somewhere between our feet.

Alex looks as shocked by the words as I am and it takes a minute or two of deep silence for the words to leave the space between us and anchor themselves in my heart.

Even in the dark, I catch her eyes - noticing the darkening of her cheeks, a haze of red working its way up from beneath her top all the way to the tips of her ears. I don't think I've ever witnessed Alex blushing, something that leaves me so unbalanced — and it's her who breaks the silence again.

"Keep a girl under suspense why don't you." Alex exhales in a single breath, eyes glittering in the dark.

I'm smiling when a calm wave of acute understanding traverses through me, tumbling words out that I've never been so sure of saying. "I think I love you too." I whisper back, lifting my gaze to capture hers.

You know those precise moments when everything is exactly the way it was meant to be? When everything has aligned itself so perfectly and you know you couldn't possibly be more happy? I was basking in that moment right now and was fully aware of it.

An inexplicable surge of peace poured through me, flowing into every nook and cranny of my heart. We sat perfectly still, the speckled light of stars hanging above us, the velvety dark sky all of a sudden unbidden and full of possibility.

In the span of ten seconds, a million things occurred. Alex suddenly closed the gap between us, bracketed her hands over my cheeks and placed her lips over mine with such breathtaking precision.

My body is already angled toward her, an invisible magnetic field pulling us flush together — our actions somehow communicating our declarations over and over again.

Babies were born, entire cities built, seniors graduated high school, stock markets crashed, and Alex kissed me.

All in those ten seconds.

And in those ten seconds, I wielded enough power to stop the world on its axis, change the sunrise from east to west, be loved and love back, and gladly kiss her back.

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 _AN/_ _Going to have to conclude it here folks. It's been an absolute pleasure writing for you all really enjoyed writing this vauseman version and I hope you have too, if not more! Please let me know of your thoughts. Every comment, favourite and follow is so very much appreciated. I'm most probably going to take a break from writing for a while, I've got my residency exams coming up so going to have to focus on that for some time._


	9. I wanna feel your heart & soul

**_9._** I wanna feel your heart and soul

* * *

 _AN/ Yes, I know it's been about a century but I quite obviously couldn't leave this story alone. It was calling for me and I gladly obeyed. It may have been certain events of season 5 that kicked me back into motivation ha. Also I've not abandoned my other story which I shall update in the coming weeks hopefully._

 _**For the purposes of timeline: this chapter is set a few years forward from the previous chapter._

 _(Perspective is Piper's)_

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 _Ugh_ minions.

Not a reference to the movie _Minions,_ mind. That I give a solid nine out of ten; great plot and strong dialogue.

No, I'm talking about the less than competent halfwits that work under me, a bunch that can't even tell the difference between a clafoutis or a creme brûlée, I mean what sort of a gastronomic faux-pas is that?

Oh, I didn't tell you?

I'm manager of Haven now. Yes, _me._

The sweet girl from Connecticut who couldn't even cook an omelette without debasing it into an inedible mound of ash. To Bill and Carol, I had become exactly three degrees more tolerable. Also the topic of _Piper Chapman & her career prospects _was now off the blacklist of things my mother couldn't talk about at her ladies who lunch brunches. So all in all; a great rags to riches success story.

If you must know, my catapult into senior ranks had been achieved through nothing but my wit and talent and innate business sense, which has now enabled me to freely yell at the wannabe Gordon Ramseys' now aimlessly scattering around me.

Jesus who was I kidding?

Alex Vause nay Atwood and her abominably large company had sponsored our modest eatery and boom! — one minute we're serving generic American families with their two point two children and the next I'm asking Brad Pitt whether he'd like ice-cream on the side of his crepe suzette. It's astronomical. (I really don't care for Brad Pitt, but it's the _woah-we-cater-to-celebs-now!_ sentiment I'm really trying to convey.)

After Alex had crunched a few numbers, our finances apparently large enough to invest in, I drafted the plan to our boss. Red the ever faithful Russian had paid me handsomely when she handed me the reigns to Haven, although there _had_ been a few reluctant tugs but she let go eventually.

So here I am, exerting my dictator-esque powers over my minions and I can completely understand why Red loved it too. Here's me in action, "Poussey, when I asked you to cook that sirloin steak well done, I actually meant well done."

Poussey snaps her head round, "The fuck Chapman, since when did you know anything about steak?" She points at the slab of meat she's braising and shakes her head, "This is fucking lamb, girl."

"Right." I hold my hands out conciliatory. This whole managerial thing clearly was going to my head and it hadn't even been a full six months. "My bad, I'm getting a little carried away, I know."

"Too right you are, and what the fuck is it with the chef's hat…man you gotta cut that shit already."

"What this?" I purposely adjust my hat, pulling my face into a nonchalant expression, "It really helps with my kitchen zen. Did you know the origins of the chef's hat or toque blanche in French came from-"

Just then Taystee cuts me off, just as she circles her hands around my waist from behind and sidles up to me, "And it also makes you feel all important, we get it, P. You love your new role but you still gotta cut potatoes and cry into the onions, just like the rest of us common people."

I turn around, mildly peeved, "What are you even doing?"

"What, you forgotten your roots now?" Taystee tilts her head, "You too damn important to be touched now?"

"No, I mean no, you guys." I scramble, "God, you know I never boss you guys around."

Taystee and Poussey share a fleeting look between them, their faces on the verge of laughter.

"Whatever you say, _boss."_ Poussey declares sarcastically. "

"Fuck off, honestly"

Taystee raises her eyebrows and says to Poussey, "Guess you'll have to stop giving this white girl rides home now, 'cause she be all getting too big for her boots right now."

She smirks, "I think you have a valid point, Tay."

"Okay, okay." I roll my eyes into infinity, "What do you guys want?"

"You have to serve table nine, no way am I going back to that creepy old guy. I mean he keeps dropping his spoon and fork, like how clumsy do you have to be?" Taystee laments.

"I think he just wants to stare at yo backside." Poussey laughs. "You've got a fine ass on you, T."

"I do?" Her eyes twinkling, already forgetting about being objectified. "I know I have some mean killer curves but even so."

"Chaps'll go. Don't worry." Poussey's purposefully eyeing me. "She's our boss now, and she sure as hell has got some special skills we ain't got."

I concede reluctantly. "I'll take table nine then."

"Thanks P! You're the greatest." Taystee hugs like me she like they haven't just blackmailed into this at all.

It's half hour and three 'accidental' spoon drops later, when Nicky Nichols' head pops around the open partition, unhygienic head of hair and all, smirking and sashaying into the kitchen where I was stood, "Chapman! My dear old friend, you have a visitor." She throws me a wry grin and gleefully clarifies. "Y'know tall dark, and handsome."

I nearly drop the plates I'm carrying, my heart skipping a beat - and then another, and another. There's only one reason responsible for Nicky's fan-girling and it's not the arrival of Justin Bieber or some other vaguely famous and annoying celebrity.

I nearly smash the plate again when I slam them down on the counter and all but rip my apron off.

"You." I point at the Kristen Stewart look-alike who looks up. "Don't ruin that fruit salad, so help me god."

It's bad I know. I don't care to learn the names of my workers, I'm too busy running a successful restaurant to waste my time with such trivial things as getting to know people and building up rapport. God, no. I reserve that for my therapist I see on occasion (nothing drastic just a place to vent and rant over my woeful childhood issues)

"You coming or what?"

"I am. I am." I clean my hands on a cloth and follow her out toward the back where I stepped outside into the cool night air.

And there she is: my love, my life, my number one endearing asshole whom I've missed to world's end for this past week. Alex had been away on business for a week which truthfully had felt more like a year. Had I know I'd be missing her so much I wouldn't have been so blasé about her leaving. I vow never to roll my eyes again whenever a character in a romantic movie speaks of an aching heart when their significant other has gone away.

Alex doesn't see me at first, leaning against the wall, one leg bracketed against it, thumbing through her phone, while she lazily exhaled plumes of cigarette smoke.

I practically propel myself at her. Her face breaks into a giant smile when she spots me charging toward her. I envelop her into a tight hug, my body fitting into her like a tetris game piece.

"I would have brought more tissues had I know it was going to be so fucking beautiful." Nicky voices behind us, still stood in the doorway. "The tears, dammit."

"I've got it from here, Nichols." I'm furiously nodding my head in rapid micro-shakes in the hope Nicky would interpret it as please get the hell out while I try and have a reunion with my girlfriend.

Miraculously, it seems to have worked, she nods at Alex who nods back before she disappeared back into Haven.

"When the hell did you get back?" I murmur into her ears, while she placed a habitual kiss on my cheek.

"Got off the flight this morning went home to freshen up and came here and I thought I'd surprise you." She leans back, "But alas you've surprised me instead."

"How was it?" I scour my eyes over her, like some clingy mother making sure her sweet darling kid hadn't injured themselves while they'd been away at some summer camp.

"Shockingly dull." She takes another drag. "I've seen corpses with more life than what I had to endure."

"That bad, huh?"

"Company meetings are the bane of my existence, Pipes." Her mouth twists into a lopsided grin, "But the madeiras of Spain were pretty fucking nice though.

"And here I thought you'd come back from your adventure filled voyages bearing all sorts of gifts." I add jokily, just as Alex's lips curl into a smile, where I'm reminded yet again of how the hell I've managed to make do without her for this last week.

The distant sounds of city life drifted through between us every now and again. Apart from the odd police siren sounding somewhere far from us, the backstreet was quiet. The momentary pause in conversation allows me time to readjust to Alex's presence and recalibrate my senses.

My reverie is interrupted, "You know what I was thinking about the whole time I was gone?" Alex flicks the cigarette away bringing her hand to my face before dropping it and taking the palm of my hand into hers. She's absently tracing random patterns into it. "I was thinking about how much I fucking love you."

She does that, make me feel all soppy and mushy. Alex, the bona fide master of love talk. You wouldn't have thought so would you? At first glance she's all roaring femme fatale, and get to know her more and voila it's platinum tiered charm through and through.

"That's a strange thing to say to someone you've been with more for nearly three years."

Alex smiles wistfully. "It was definitely weird not seeing you for those seven long days."

"What even when you were sipping two hundred dollar wine in your five star hotel room, you still remembered me then?" I challenge her teasingly, a woolly sort of sensation embedded in my throat.

"Well there was a momentary lapse in my loving thoughts for you when I climbed into the Jacuzzi with an iced Margherita in hand." She catches my eyes and gestures with her fingers, "It was just a _teeny_ second though."

"You asshole, how dare you." I pat her shoulder jokingly. "To be fair watching season three of House of Cards for about two hours every day kinda made me forget you'd gone…plus the fact Clare Underwood has been looking exceptionally attractive this season. It really helped with my missing you-ness." I tease, holding back a smile when I notice Alex's less than impressed face, "Also good shout on the high-def TV, 'cause it really does capture her essence."

"Woah okay, enough of that already. I knew I was making a mistake with that TV."

Alex is still holding onto my hand, tracing her thumb over the palm lines as though trying to figure out the map of our future. I'm no expert on the whole palm-reading business but I can be pretty sure I'll be with this one for as long as I lived.

My eyes twitched, throat dangerously tightening up, overcome with an out of the blue tenderness. We're still stood in the alleyway, my back against the wall, surrounded by food trash and discarded boxes and there's a not too shabby smell about the place, yet it suddenly becomes my favourite place on planet earth.

I took Alex for granted sometimes, forgetting the minutiae of her. I surmised it was the indulgence of a long-term relationship, becoming used to each other's familiarity, tics and whatever else.. And although it's nearly three years and counting it still feels like every night with Alex was as exciting and adventurous as our first.

"Truly, I have really missed you, though." I say in my most sincere voice. "I'm glad you're back."

"That's reassuring, I was really beginning to worry TV Clare Underwood had a good chance of replacing me."

I crinkle my eyes, "God, I love the insecure you. It's weirdly sexy." I peer over her shoulder, laughing when I spot her bike resting against the metal containers, "Really?"

Alex follows my gaze and looks back, "What?"

"First, it's a chauffeur driven Merc and now it's a limited edition Kawasaki? I'm beginning to think you're either just showing off or trying to woo me with your worldly possessions."

"I've already successfully wooed you some years ago, I don't need to prove myself to you anymore, you moron." Alex smirks, as she worries a strand of my hair between her index and thumb, "Also, I'm mightily impressed you knew it was a Kawasaki." She glances around the darkness, and leans forward before whispering, "Such a turn on."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, I'm just reading the big white writing stamped all over the chassis. Also is there anything that doesn't turn you on?"

My legs buckled as she swept kisses all over my neck and answered, "Let's face it. There's nothing about you that ever turns me off."

Alex chuckles amusedly, "Actually, sorry - I'm going to have to recant that bold statement, I just remembered you like _Clueless_ and your taste in music still physically pains me." She's pulling my earlobe between her lips, my protests duly swept away as the warmth of Alex's breath tickled my senses alight. Noses rub against each other. The strong leather smell together with the scent of cigarettes emanating from her dreamily reminds me of those neo-noir movies that featured cool people, riding around in custom built motorcycles, wearing Ray-Ban glasses and smoking flimsily made roll-ups. I jut my head forwards, smiling into Alex's kisses. Thankfully, I've got my own neo-noir cool babe, right here.

Just to set that into stone, Alex walks back to her bike and pushes a spare helmet into my hands. "Right...enough of the sentimental reunion. I need you back home, ASAP." There's a heated look that is obvious even under the cover of darkness and it has me swallow back all sorts of kinky thoughts.

"Now?" I make a show of glancing back at the door leading into the kitchen. I'm only two-thirds into my shift…I mean as much as I would really _really_ like to do what I hadn't been able to for the last week, I couldn't just walk out of work. "Alex, you know I can't just _leave."_

Alex's face is deadpan, "Well let me speak to your manager to get you permission." She raises her eyebrows, "Oh wait, that's actually _you_."

"Seriously? Al, you know I can't be seen abusing my senior position when I've not even been holding it longer for than a _Lord of the Rings_ movie."

"What? It's just the last few hours, you were nearly done anyway."

"What if there's an emergency they might need me for?"

Alex laughs, "Like what? Some kind of spontaneous humanitarian crisis where you have to _emergency_ feed people foie gras and rocket salad?"

She's got a point, "Well let me at least tell the gang then."

"There's a bottle of Rioja red waiting for us and a week's worth of pent up sex inside me. So...kindly hurry."

Those words have the equivalent effect of someone sticking a nitro engine up my backside, my pace automatically hastening. I retreat back into the kitchen, holding out my index finger for Alex to give me a minute. As much as I'd like to jet back with her, I owed it to my work folk to at _least_ tell them I'll be AWOL for the rest of the afternoon. God, I'm not going to lie and pretend I don't love the perks of seniority - I really should have campaigned for it much sooner.

"Woah, Chapman! Hold your goddamn horses!"

Ah Nichols...she'll do.

"Oh, just the person. Nichols, can you hold the fort please. I've sorta gotta rush off." I purposefully intense-stare into her eyes, forcing her to see the thousand previous favours I've done for her etched onto my face right now.

"And what exactly is the rush?" She asks with an annoyingly knowing glint in her eyes.

"None that concerns you." I take a step toward her and murmur in a low voice, "Nichols, just cover for me, yeah?"

"What about Red? What do I tell her when she founds out her golden girl is MIA?"

"She won't. Because you're not going to tell her anything."

She sighs emphatically. "And the list of Nicky Nichols endorsed favours goes on and on and on."

"Wait a minute, you've literally done one thing for me and that was when I asked you to pass me a saucepan that _one_ time."

She raises her eyebrows, "Really? So that time your tall girlfriend came to Haven for some paperwork a couple of months back and you both _accidentally_ locked yourselves into that closet near the debrief room and Red who nearly caught you in the act was not a giant massive favour?"

I'm genuinely stumped, "What fucking favour?"

"While you were seven minutes in heavening, our dear Russian boss had been walking by minding her own business when she suddenly heard some strictly un-kitchenlike sounds emitting from said close. I happened to be walking in the opposite direction when she asked me what those sounds could be." Nichols looks at me with mock seriousness. "I told her I stuck my untamed cat in there for safekeeping and it was probably getting hungry."

If this was a cartoon sketch, there'd be smoke coming out of my ears and my cheeks would be blood red. Embarrassment had never been so visual.

"And lemme tell you something, Chapman...she damn well believed me."

"Very...um imaginative." I mutter, hoping a spontaneous earthquake would magically appear, destroy this building right about now, and bury me under tons of rubble. "So about that request?"

Nichols seems to give it some thought before finally conceding (with surprisingly little effort on my part). "Fine. Only because I'd feel like such a massive cock block if I didn't and I don't think I could live with the thought of denying you sexy times with your very own long-legged and bespectacled Betty Page."

Normally I would have to promise her half my life savings or at a bare minimum offer up a body part before she'd even consider doing anything remotely favour-some so I wisely withhold the eye-rolls and scoffs, and instead brightly say, "Great! Well that's sorted then!" I'm already turning on my heel, mindful of the fact said decision could be overturned any second, "So I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"That's if she lets you out that is. She looked pretty ready for some action if you ask me. Yeah, I know I've been told I have a pretty good sex-radar. I guess it runs in my blood."

I pretend not to notice her grimy looking half-smile. I grab my bag and jacket with forced slowness not wanting to give her anymore confirmatory actions and swiftly head out the door.

"Enjoy the Rioja!

I only bother to semi-turn around before I swiftly respond with the bird and zoom off to meet my uh...critically acclaimed charmer.

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Jesus Christ, Alex. Faster!"

My heart is ramming hard against my chest and it's no wonder it hadn't smashed through my ribs and just climbed out, calling it quits once and for all.

"Fuckkkkk!" I yelp out, shockingly loud even to my own ears. "It's coming! It's coming!"

"Ah shit!"

Alex falls back into the seat of the sofa, the climax to my crescendoing squeals pinnacled by her spent sigh. "My fingers, goddamit."

Shaking my head, I lean over her and...snatch the game console out of her hands. "Here, let me. You've lost more times than I can count and every time you blame it on something else. Admit it, you're shockingly bad at it."

I concentrate on the television screen where the trashy graphics of some late 90s game was playing. It's been two days already and any outdoor activities we were planning on having had been thwarted by the unannounced appearance of the mother of all thunderstorms, now releasing its apocalyptic undoing onto the streets of New York.

I was halfway through a expletive ridden tirade over how my carefully planned picnic outing had been ruined before Alex finally had enough. "Thank fuck for that. Pipes, picnics are for retired people with back problems who derive excitement from pre-packed sandwiches they could have easily had at home." She had sensitively responded and instead dug out _Torak Volume II_ from the garage and unironically insisted we should play a video game instead.

"But I made cream cheese and organic cucumber sandwiches, and I even cut carrot sticks so that we could have it with the hummus." God, I really was making a case for the most whitest New Yorker ever.

"I have a groundbreaking suggestion that could potentially solve this huge disaster. We could have them indoors instead. I'm sure they'll still taste exactly the same."

Anyway, _Torak Vol II_ it was and it quickly went from lighthearted entertainment to a fully-fledged _I'm going to fucking win or else_ sort of competition. If only I was this invested in filling out my tax returns or anything that concerned my general adult life for that matter.

I press a few buttons on the console, the loading icon filling the screen. "You basically ran into a trap. Here, watch and learn."

The storm outside showed no signs of abating, if anything it did the opposite, probably just to spite me - the rain battered harder and the became wind more violent.

Alex side glances at me just as she gets up to refill our wine glasses again. "Right, I'm going to read my book. You carry on and play your life away."

I reluctantly snatch my gaze away from the TV, (it's a 90s game, there's no such thing as 'pause') "Anyone ever tell you that you're such a sore loser?"

To be fair, my boasts and jeers of celebration hadn't been exactly gracious and I'd been spurred on even more when Alex's blatant fake blasé attitude appeared every time she lost.

She unfolds her legs and stretches them out on the footrest, "Well I consider myself _adult_ enough to not get carried away over some low rate adventure game."

I tut and shake my head, "You weren't flying the flag for that statement when you got through to level twelve after no less than eight tries and basically fistpumped the air."

"I did not fist-pump. I merely _saluted_ my achievements with well known celebratory gestures."

I push back a snort, "Do you even hear yourself?"

"Quite clear, actually."

It's a few hours later, my eyes bamboozled as I've reached level fourteen but also wearing considerably less clothes. Alex had kindly sacrificed herself as a play date during my many _much needed_ ' _breaks'_ hence the lack of clothes and somewhat hoarse voice. Ahem.

She's such a good sport.

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Summer seems to have arrived overnight, happily bolstering the rain and wind out of the way. Everything in New York appeared greener and brighter. Even the grey slabs of concrete appeared less grey and more in tune with the warm weather. I've managed to escape from work slightly earlier than usual, meaning I had some time to meet up with Polly at our usual coffee place before heading home. To my joy the first thing she announces is that she's finally dumped that sack of beans of a boyfriend and was now giddily regaling over the new French beau she managed to snag for herself.

"Piper, I have been reintroduced to what a real man is supposed to be like." She continues heedlessly as we take our seats at our spot.

"Which is what?"

"One who washes at least every other day and doesn't drink three bottles of vodka every forty-five minutes, of course. I gotta tell you, I've come to the great epiphany where I've been nothing more than a fucking doormat for half a year." She puts her fork down, "It's true what they say about french men, Pipe."

"That their sweat largely consists of croissant butter and they spend all of their spare time trawling through art museums?"

"Fuck no! That they're these super suave lotharios and they all know how to please a lady, obviously." Polly levels her gaze at me, "Honestly, if I told you all the things he does in the bedroom, you'd die of jealousy, Piper. Once he was reciting _Paul Verlaine_ poems in his native language, and I don't know what the fuck he was saying but it sounded hot as hell. Plus I had the bonus of getting cultured in French poetry while getting sexed up. Two birds with one stone." She registers my amused gaze, "I feel fucking liberated."

I couldn't help myself, "Was he also wearing a beret and quoting _Belle du Jour_ as he was sexing you up?"

"I'm being serious. I have a newfound love for everything male - oh god sorry, is that offensive to lesbians?"

I snort a laugh, "Jesus, I'm just offended it took you so long to realise what I was trying to tell you about yesteryear Pete all along."

"Ugh, Pete. That guy is confined to the history book titled, _my six month nightmare of living with a man-child._ "

"Sounds like a bestseller already."

"Get your Alex and Excelsior on the case and it'll sell faster than the last Harry Potter book."

I snag a piece of her carrot cake, "Alex has already Mother Theresa'd me when she sponsored Haven. I think that's enough nepotism to last her a lifetime."

"Shame, I would've loved to see Pete's face when he reads it." Polly sips her coffee, "How's Alex, anyway? She tired of you yet?"

"Never in a million years, Pols." I reply in a sing-song voice. "In other news, I've let my apartment go."

This is the first time I've told anyone. I hadn't even declared this life changing decision to my parents...I mean I still had to get round to telling them about Alex.

"You what?!"

"I've barely lived there for almost a year, plus I spent most of my time at Alex's anyway. It was just wasted rent money."

"And what happens if it doesn't work out? Where are you going to run back to when it all goes tits up?"

"Thanks Polly. Ignore the fact we've been together for nearly three years, jeez. You're making it sound like I've just got into the relationship."

Polly stays quiet for a second, "Honestly at the beginning, I never thought you guys were gonna last beyond a few weeks."

It's my turn to loudly exclaim, "What!"

"Sorry. She seemed like the one night stand kinda woman. Plus, she's loaded. Rich people aren't notoriously bad at commitment." Polly spots my thunder face, "BUT, you've proven me wrong. You've _both_ proven me wrong, and you're clearly in annoyingly sweet love."

I relax back in to my chair and dreamily utter, "Yeah...yeah we are."

"Hmmm." Polly was thinking. She suddenly looked back up at me, her face brightening, "So are you guys anywhere near the big M word?"

"You mean getting _married?"_ I down the last of my drink down much too fast, _"_ I mean I uh...I've never really even thought about it."

I had thought about it. A lot actually. Something in me grew weird and narrow as I realised we'd been together for so long and not once had Alex brought up the let's settle down and commit to each other conversation. Not even as a passing remark, hell not even as a damn joke.

I couldn't ask Alex. My stomach would become knotted with such tight anxiety every time I mustered up the courage to broach the subject I had to spend another half hour recovering from the adrenaline raging through my body. When I did finally jump that hurdle the moment had already passed, and I'd shower myself with excuses of _next time._

I think it's because I was too scared to know the answer and even worse having to then deal with the awkward aftermath.

I mean, Alex didn't seem like the kind of person who'd play into the big house with its white picket fence fairytale. Nor did her high-flying lifestyle compute with the whole let's settle down and get married deal.

"You look like you're thinking about it a lot, right now." Polly breaks into my thoughts.

My mouth suddenly felt like the Sahara desert, and I have to shy my gaze away from my friend, "Yeah well, we're just taking it a day at a time, y'know?" I catch myself fidgeting with the handle of my cup and stop myself, "We've got enough time."

Polly's expression turns wistful, "I hope Pierre looks at me the way Alex looks at you, Piper."

"She looks at me how?" I steal a glance, suddenly hit with the craving curiosity to know the exact details.

"You know like you're the only person left in this world."

That makes me smile way harder than it should, and it carves a little bit away at the stone of low-grade anxiety weighing down my insides, "Well let's hope Mr French Debonair does so as well."

"I hope so, too."

The temperature dipped slightly and the summery breeze picked up speed, reminding us dusk was approaching. I barely followed Polly's conversation, as she chatted animatedly about life and all its petty grievances. I'm still hung up on her question, not being able to let it go. I was always a dog with a bone when it came to slogging over my introspective epiphanies.

I can't help but glance down at my hand, suddenly noticing how conspicuously bare it was.

I'd like to think it would look really _really_ good with a ring on it.

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 _AN/ Hope you guys liked it. I'd love to know your thoughts! Part of the next chapter already done, so will update soon x_


	10. Let's keep it classy shall we?

**10.** Let's keep it classy shall we?

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 _AN/ Glad you've all liked it, guys. Slow update is better than no update, right? Tbh who doesn't love these gals in sweet love sigh sigh. You've probs realised by now this fic is an exclusively self-indulgent vauseman love affair ;)_

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The slam of our apartment door closing tears my attention away from the television programme I'd been engrossed in. I watch Alex indiscriminately dump the house keys, kicking her shoes off at the same time as she walked into the apartment.

"Hey, I didn't realise you'd be home." She asks when she spots me, her eyes automatically brightening.

Something I loved about Alex was no matter how tired or run down she was, she always looked visibly revived when she saw me, like I was some kind of mirage in the middle of a barren desert. The lingering anxiety broiling through me since Polly's conversation had all but ebbed away with every second of Alex's presence.

"Just a half day today."

"I'm glad you're here. Now I can have you shoot me in the head right about now. I want it to be quick and clean, do you think you can manage?"

"Bad day at the office?" I climb off the sofa and walk up to her, sliding my arms around her waist while still holding onto my bag of chips I'd been wolfing down. I pull her in for a habitual welcome home kiss, immediately feeling myself relax as I took in Alex's familiar scent.

God, we're so domestic now. I love it truly. "But Alex, if I murder you who's going to be kissing me goodnight every evening?"

Alex smiles into my neck, "Is that all you're going to miss about me? She steals a chip and pops it in her mouth, "Of my so many highly rated qualities you could've chosen from."

"Oh! You're right. Shower sex. Strike the goodnight kisses, shower sex definitely trumps everything."

"I do not understand your obsession with shower sex, honestly."

"It's a real thing, look it up."

"Your obsession with it or the existence of it?"

"Okay, smartass."

Alex rolls her eyes, "Sorry for not supporting your fantasies, sweetheart."

I twirl around, amused smile on my face, "Sweetheart?"

Alex runs a hand through her hair, totally oblivious, What?"

"You called me sweetheart."

Alex shrugs her shoulders in a what's the big deal gesture. As though she used this term of endearment on a regular basis which for the record she did _not._ Not _ever._ I mean babe, or babes or some variant of that and sometimes my name in strangled cries during nights of passion but sweetheart?

I can't help but smirk, "Since when did you become so domestic?"

"As opposed to being an untamed wild animal?"

"Jesus!" I throw my hands into the air, "You're changing right before my eyes. Just what is happening? It's an absolute mockery to your formidable image."

Alex laughs, playing along, "I know, I know. I scared myself when I caught myself pre-recording _How it's made_ episodes. That's when I realised I'm truly done for."

"What a fucking travesty. Just cut to the chase and sub your motorcycle for a Prius. You're already on the road of no return."

"Woah, that's too far." Alex finally shrugs out of her coat causing me to smile into infinity when I spot the navy blazer she's sporting with the rolled sleeves, complimented by the black t-shirt underneath. Alex has certainly upped her sartorial game not that it wasn't already upped but she looked even more marvellously marvelous than usual.

She catches me staring and cocks her head all amused, "What's with the death stare?"

I purse my lips and purposefully run my fingers over the fabric, "You know Al, you honestly couldn't have looked any more gay even if you tried."

"What this?" She laughs and grabs hold of the lapels and holds it open with casual nonchalance.

"You've set another record on the gay scale today. I should start giving you prizes, really." I take an educated guess, "Alexander McQueen?"

Alex swats my hands away, "Prada, actually. It's my new and improved look. Yay or nay?"

Like that's even a needed question, "A thousand yays." I sling my bag of chips away, suddenly way too starstruck by the tousled hair and that blazer with the casually rolled sleeves contrasting with the decidedly renegade tattoo peeking underneath. I can't help myself, it's as though I've been pre-programmed to react a certain way whenever I was in close proximity to her. "So… so many yays. But come to think of it, I like you in your birthday suit even better."

Before she has a chance to object I place an open-mouthed kiss over her lips sliding my hands beneath her blazer. I'd grown accustomed to all of Alex's landmarks. Often I liked to start my journey up north, starting with my fingers resting along the soft curve of her nape, taking pleasure in feeling her heart flicker to new speeds. And the swell of her breasts there as I veered to more southerly travels. The fabric of her tee was replaced with warm skin, my fingers traversing the contours of toned abdomen and the dips of her pelvis. I was like a blind person reading a book in Braille ( a more carnal version that is )

I could hear her sharp intake of of breath, "Y'know as much as I want this, Pipes...I _really_ would like to at least..."

I glance up, cutting her off with a kiss and mustering up all the innocence I still had left in me, but damn it, Alex must have spotted the I want to eat you right now face I was projecting, because she adds, "Before you get yourself all riled up. Can I at least pour myself a glass of wine?"

I let my hands drop to the side, "Talk about hosing down the fire with that sexy lingo. Jesus, Al."

"Hey, it's not my fault when you've got yourself turned on because of my haute couture dress sense."

"Gay sense." I correct her, holding back a smile when she responds by flicking me the middle finger over her shoulder.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Alex is made up of 99% charming asshole, the other 1% is that je ne sais quoi that made me fall head over heels for her all those years ago.

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It's a few weeks later when Alex puts her book down and announces from the kitchen island, "God, I'm starving. I'm feeling the European in me tonight, Italian?"

I glance away from the television, disconnecting my earbuds just as my mood immediately perked up, "Sure."

"I'm sure the inspiration must have come from Bella the Italian stakeholder, we had in our meeting this morning." She's nonchalantly flicking through sheafs of paper, before casually adding "There was something so dark and wholesome about her."

Thankfully we've reached a far enough stage in our relationship where we can openly admire other attractive human beings and even voice this without crying ourselves to sleep sick with jealousy. This would be my general modus operandi. Alex, not so much hot on the crying.

I'm rolling my eyes infinitesimally when I sarcastically throw back, "Really. And her 'dark and wholesome' thing somehow reminded you of lasagna and ravioli? Nice."

"Nope." Alex looks up, expression deliberately serious, "It was more her verbal suggestion we should try that new place in Williamsburg. _Fully_ authentic according to her." Alex shrugs her shoulders, "Well, she is Italian, so she would fucking know."

I'm forced to _unroll_ my eyes - which is not even a thing but I'm doing it.

Alex had an uncanny super skill of knowing what I would be concluding, thus lead me on with that conclusion and at the very last second veer a full ninety degrees off course and then smugly acknowledge my sheepish expression when she called me out for it.

She piles up the papers into a corner and lights a cigarette, the beginnings of a thoughtful smile simmering through the smoke. "Wear something nice. Maybe that Gucci number you wore to the Canaries."

"Provided you wear that LBD by Chanel. It's only fair."

"It's a done deal."

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Curse Bella the 'dark and wholesome' Italian, because _Madre Piccola_ was heads and shoulders above any foreign restaurant I've ever visited and I consider myself relatively well cultured. Even the valet man who had taken ownership of our car was dressed to the nines, wearing a classy white and black tux and oozing that world renowned Italian charm.

The place gently overlooked the Hudson, while the tetris highrises of Manhattan formed a dramatic backdrop. The crisp and heady scent of the river filled the air. No sooner had we stepped through the spacious foyer, a young, sharply dressed waiter showed us to our seats and smoothly presented us with an exorbitantly long wine list. Alex had reserved the table beside the floor to ceiling aquarium, permitting us a stunning view of vibrantly coloured fish swimming amongst breathtakingly pretty coral.

"Wow, babe. I must say...I gotta give it to Bella." I say concedingly.

Alex squeezes my hand, "You do that reluctantly-trying-to-be-nice face so well." She steals a quick kiss on my cheek, without a doubt knowing I was about to launch into a well-versed argument of how I don't have _that_ face. "Also I scoured the reviews online instead of just blindly booking a table." She palms her hands out, "Five stars across the board."

"I guess I really _do_ have to thank Bella." I jest, secretly smiling to myself at Alex's frankly adorable enthusiasm. "Actually remind me later so we can pit-stop at her house for a proper thank you."

"You wear sarcasm so well. But what about your evening plans later on?"

"I don't recall any evening plans."

"Well I sure do." She says with a tilt of her eyebrow. If I met this girl in high school I wouldn't have survived these subtle not so subtle come ons she liked to tease me with.

"Alex _Vause,_ I can't tell if you're seducing me or trying to remind me of an important business event I've forgotten about."

Alex's eyes are twinkling, the light in her pupils burning with intensity when she watches me slide my coat off. I've got a pretty good idea of the answer already.

"Is something wrong?" I ask innocently, my enunciation all prim and proper. I take my seat with unnecessary slowness aware of how maddeningly exasperated that makes Alex. After a few minutes of pretend-skimming the wine list I steal a glance over the menu, catching my annoyingly patient girlfriend regarding me with obvious amusement.

Alex's smile is a cross between _I know I'm_ too-smart-for-my-own-good and something a little more lustful. "I'm sorry, but you don't get to look like _that_ and expect me to just sit there and watch, you fucking tease."

"You like it?" I stand back up again, beyond pleased. The nearest table from us was a good ten or so metres away and the ambient light was much less bright here in our little alcove. I'm realising that the specific location of our reserved table was not just selected for the pretty fish. Alex, as always the forward thinking extraordinaire.

"Like it?" She scoffs, clearly conveying how much of an understatement that is.

I do a little twirl for good measure, knowing full well my ultra-tight dress was accentuating all my worldly assets in the best possible way. As they say: if you've got it, flaunt it.

Alex pushes her chair closer to mine, the candle light burning twin flames into her green eyes, and declares in a low voice, "You know how much I like that dress, considering I'm the one who bought it for you."

I lose my teasing streak, instead feeling myself fall into her rousing trance. I'm hungry all of a sudden. Not for the mean lasagna this place was renowned for but the hands and mouth of this glass-wearing babe. "You like the dress or the body _in_ the dress?"

Alex tilts her head, taking full advantage of our secluded location, when her hand slides under the table and strokes my bare thigh. "Is that a trick question? Because you know very well I'm not very good at formulating answers to these sorts of trick questions."

"You're not? How about your alter ego Alex Atwood? Is _she_ a little better at answering these kinds of questions" I deliberately lean forwards, "Because I'm dying to know the answers."

Beside the flirting and Alex's general motto in life of can she make me wet with just her otherworldly charmer skills (she can) we do actually eat some of the food as well. Unsurprisingly, every course was creme de la creme luxury and every mouthful an explosion of titillating the senses.

Mind you, there had been a few touch and go moments during the main when said foodgasm experiences were interrupted by higher ranking stimuli...namely in the form of a certain person who may or not go by the moniker; Asshole with a capital A.

"Good lord." I clench my teeth together as Alex transforms into Talented with her Hands Asshole, and takes full advantage of the near-darkness, her fingers stroking my inner thigh underneath the table. My mouth is about to emit a strictly 15 rated moan, scratch that - said fingers have now moved precariously higher - I'm certain it's going to be an R-rated one.

Obviously... _O_ _bviously_ the waiter has to make the obligatory 'how is the food round' to our table when this unfortunate set of events happens to be taking place.

"Everything good with the food, madams?" He asks in a thick Italian accent while I'm busy holding back the world's longest breath-hold. (I knew I should have taken up more swimming in college)

"Thank you, sir. The food is delicious. The garlic prawns especially were a delight." Alex answers painfully slowly as she side eyes me. The absolute cheek.

"You're welcome." He turns to me, "And you madam?"

I can feel my face rearranging itself into an awkward grimace, clearly my brain cannot handle more than one thing at once, because all it can hone in on are the nothing short of destructive hands ruining me right about Now. I can already foresee myself following into the steps of _that_ infamous _When Harry met Sally_ scene.

Alex answers on my behalf, "I think her expression tells me she particularly enjoyed the mushroom risotto although...what was that, honey?" Alex narrows her eyes, before looking back up at the waiter, "Although the cinching of the eyes tell me the bruschetta with that pesto was a very close second.'

"Very well." The waiter glances at me, his expression brimming with scrutiny. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Alex squeezes my thigh and winks at me. It's a pity all of that devil's work was concealed by the overhanging table cloth. "Thank you, that's all."

Mr Waiter eventually leaves, leaving _me_ to hiss out a half-formed moan, together with about four lungful breaths of air, "You absolute fucking jerk of an asshole."

Alex tuts, "I would have thought a high-class lady like yourself would have some finesse with her words."

"I could have watched the entire Titanic movie in the period you had to decide whether the food was good or not. Seriously?"

"What? I was giving it some serious thought."

Asshole with a capital A's eyes were so full of haughty naughty, I'm pretty sure that even Satan himself would be blushing his hot fiery ass off.

The cheesecake was nice. And so was the fountain of ultra-expensive wine I was drinking by the gallon. Liquified gold was the best term for it, and my stomach seemed to agree. The evening was so deliciously hazy, the alcohol giving everything an ethereal tint.

There were so many unheeded moments where I found myself lost into Alex's gaze as she talked which made me realise just how much I've missed this. Missed sitting opposite one another, giving full attention to each other. Nothing but our words, looks and touches keeping us company.

Together with my promotion and Alex's job - time for these kind of things had shrunk, there were times I could swear the hours in the day had been halved or it had been put into fast-forward mode.

I'm almost inclined to carve such moments into stone, letting myself never forget them. Imagining myself in years to come, in our ripe old ages, stroking my fingers into the carvings and happily reminiscing.

"Hello?" Alex enters my thoughts. "You there?"

"Hmmm?"

"You've got that getting sentimental face on again."

I glance up, "I was just thinking of how you'd look like when you're super old."

Alex laughs, "I like to think of myself as keeping most if not all of my super good looks."

"Looks aren't everything."

"Hmmm, I should know. It was your inner personality that attracted me to you in the first place. Nothing to do with those wholesome all American looks."

"And there goes my self-esteem." I chuckle jokily.

We finish off the last of our desserts, and tip into a easy conversation, just a stream of consciousness of nothing in particular. Through the course of the evening, I feel myself become deluged with an affable warmth that seemed to reach the entire periphery of my body. It was during an innocuous moment of mid-jokes that I watched Alex's smile, and it was like a strange coming to moment where I felt the whole damn world finally aligning itself into its rightful place. There's an unheeded instant where Alex reaches out for my hand, gently skimming her thumb over my fingers as she regaled a childhood story and it shouldn't by now, but her touch still made me my insides feel the way rain comes down hard.

It's a few minutes later, when I quietly announce, "Hey, I'm just going to head off to the ladies. I'll be right back."

I'm pushing my chair back when I'm stopped by Alex grabbing my wrist and locks eyes with me, "Hold up, I'll come with."

Nearly three years and counting and there's that distinct look that always arrest me in my tracks and somehow makes me drop any plans I have made for the foreseeable future. Somewhat problematic in most instances but always worthwhile in the end. "You are?"

"Yeah." She responds in a low voice, her eyes almost twinkling, cheeks flushed from the wine.

I watched a documentary once where they featured these African birds that have a hidden patch of green-coloured feathers but they only reveal it when they're trying to attract a mate. Because that bit of green said in no uncertain terms, I want you, and I want you _now_. Well the green eyes currently locked with mine also implied of such pending activity.

"But what about your bag?" I blurt out, forever the practical one.

Alex shrugs. I can tell she's barely holding back an eyeroll. "The shoulders are remarkable things and can hold up pieces of clothing without problem. Bags also I think."

Jesus.

The bathroom it turns out, is marbled and antiquated glass galore. The giant mirror over the sinks even had a goddamn self-cleaning wipers, and the taps - artisanal things with sensor-operated controls. And don't even get me started on the hand-dryers with all their obnoxiously shiny and unnecessary dials. I'm almost afraid to step on the gleaming marble floor tiles for fear of staining them with my common feet.

Alex whistles in approval as I set my purse on the counter and fix my hair up. Ugh, I look so washed out and my mascara was all smudged. I was heading toward the cursed panda look.

"God, Alex. You could have told me I looked like an Addams Family extra."

She stands behind me and places her chin over my shoulders, both of us looking at my reflection. "I was too busy being distracted by your supple rose lips to have even noticed." She punctuates this by placing kisses over my neck. "You look gorgeous babe, relax."

Alex turns me around and thumbs away the mascara stains, inspecting my face for any more mishaps. "There," She looks up and smiles endearingly, "Such a babe, didn't I tell you."

I find my eyes closing without me really knowing but they do and I also feel my head move toward her and I kinda kiss her. Alex's hands cup my face and she kisses me back, her lips hot against mine. She pushes me back against the edge of the counter, pulling my body against her. It's a bomb of a kiss evidenced by the fact I've even forgotten of our very public surroundings.

"C'mere." Alex doesn't wait for an answer and all but drags me into the nearest cubicle. I had a split second opportunity to admire the ostentatious decoration before my attention was skewed elsewhere.

"God, Alex. Here really?"

My mind is already reeling through all the reasons why we shouldn't do this. Imagining all sorts of scenarios where we'd be caught. Then again, a little bit of danger didn't hurt anyone, and also no one really liked being told what they can and can't do. My ministrations are left hanging when a hot mouth clamps over mine and does it's usual job of shooting my senses right up into the stratosphere. NASA rockets had nothing on Alex's legendary lips.

Her hands roamed unabashedly over my bare thighs when she suddenly whispered into my ear, "Public toilet fantasy, tick."

"I thought we already had?" I murmur back.

"No." She strokes my hair back, "That's when we joined the mile high club. Completely different trope, Pipes."

"You know you're just splitting hairs now."

"C'mon Piper _English Major_ Chapman, we all know you're good with your words, now let's see what those cute hands can do."

I can't help but giggle. I still can't believe we managed to make out in an airplane toilet. To be fair, it's much more believable when I tell you it was in a private chartered jet and there had been literally three people on board, one of whom was the pilot, the two others being us.

Oh yes, the many perks of being with Alex - exotic holidays were part and parcel of the relationship. I still vividly remember the logistically challenging make out we had in the heart of the Java jungle but it was the Serengeti one that had proved to be much more difficult, (for future reference, sandy surfaces are a big no no.)

I should really get myself a punch card.

Suddenly my ears pluck up to the change in music playing through the overhead speakers. We both catch the lyrics of Nelly's _it's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes._..and look at each other in amusement.

"You heard the man." Alex cockily declares.

I'm too visibly gobsmacked that such an inappropriate song is making its rounds in a supposedly high-end restaurant, but then inappropriate hands seek and hold inappropriate places and I've already happily climbed off my moral high horse. Hot pleasure engulfs me as Alex continues to grind against me, causing my hands to involuntarily hike up her dress and grab hold of her ass.

Without warning she slides down the straps of my dress, expertly undoes my bra and cups my breasts. She deliberately pauses over my nipples, before sliding her mouth down from my nape down to them.

I writhe against the partition. "Oh shit. Alex. Fuck."

"You like that, huh?"

I'm too focused on the dropped off a building sensation cascading through my entirety to respond, and instead of the usual tame butterflies in stomach feeling, it was more like an army of elephants trying to ram their way out of my insides.

Her cheeks are grazing against mine o that I can feel the heat pulsating from her. Alex's eyes flickered up to mine. "How about we move onto the next base?"

Fuck that's hot. The herd of elephants had now gone full throttle. Alex had my full undivided attention now and I was so fucking ready I didn't care about anything apart from her fingers pushed deep inside me.

"What are you waiting for?" I manage to release through a series of throaty gasps.

Alex showered me with kisses that tasted faintly of white wine and strawberry cheesecake. She hikes up my dress and almost rips my panties off. I'm gasping hard and fast when well-seasoned hands tickle and tease my centre. Lightning like want bursts through me. My hands are dangling usefully by my sides as Alex continues to wreak havoc down there. I feel as though I'm being flung off the face of the earth, which sounds so dramatic, but there's only a handful of English remaining in my sex-filled mind, so that description will have to do.

"Jesus Christ!"

"I'd have preferred my name but that's okay."

She's honestly such a smug jerk. "Fuck, Alex. Don't stop."

Smug Asshole responds by shoving me hard against the partition, my back scraping against it as she brackets herself between my legs, one hand steadied against the wall. "I wasn't planning on stopping, babe." She drawls out in a dark voice that could stop entire armies.

One of my knees inadvertently pushes between Alex's legs. "Woah." She lets out a surprised groan her kisses momentarily paused. "Oh shit, that was good."

Happily flustered, I nod at her, Yeah?"

"You're quite the minx aren't you, Piper Chapman?"

I pull her glasses off and rest my forehead against hers, gazing into those greens, "As are you, Alex Vause."

I barely hear the door to the bathroom opening and only register we had company when a loud bang on our door halts my journey to orgasmic paradise.

"Hello! Is someone in there?"

"Shit! I think they heard us!" I whisper yell into Alex's ear completely forgetting I had every right to be using a toilet cubicle.

Alex strands away the hair half-covering my face, letting me catch sight of her flushed cheeks, the tan lines from our recent vacation to the islands of the French Polynesia still visible around her eyes. Alex puts a palm over my mouth, barely able to stop her own laughter from bubbling up when she reminds me that actually toilets are for one, or two purposes only depending on how you looked at it, but neither of them was _this._ "I think we're in a shit load of trouble if they catch wind of our tryst."

"Tryst?" My voice all muffled against her fingers, "That's the best you've got on the matter?"

Another bang, "Anyone in here or what?" One thing was for sure, this person was persistent.

"Don't say anything." Alex whispers the most obvious instruction ever. She's still pressed against me, breaths coming out in short, warm bursts. "They'll go away soon enough."

"And what if they don't?" I add with my usual none too cheery pessimism.

"Well I guess we'll just have to stay here for the foreseeable future." She squeezes my ass and smirks, "Nothing bad about that."

Another loud bang tears through my retort, and it makes me yelp out loud. "Alex, do something!"

She grabs her glasses out of my hair and turns to me, stare zeroing into my eyes, "I'll just be a minute."

I've changed my mind already, "Alex, don't."

"Shhh, don't worry. I'll handle it."

I watch her calmly unlatch the door, wrenching it open just far enough to poke her head through. "Can I help you?"

I catch a glimpse of a woman, maybe in her thirties and was dressed like she _was_ in the 1930s. I quickly pull my head back when I watched her trying to peer over Alex's shoulders.

I hear her mutter, "I need to use the toilet."

"Really, and did the other four cubicles not work out for you?"

"This one has the bidet."

"Well, this particular evening you're going to have to go without the bidet, pal."

"You've been in there an awfully long time."

"You're going to have to wait an awfully long time longer...sorry."

Alex cuts the conversation short and shuts the door. I would like to point out we're not some low class couple who make out in toilets because this place technically left the realms of simple bathroom. I mean I've seen mansion parlours with less plush than this place. Plus in 1950's vernacular it'd be a powder room, and powder rooms equalled class and sophistication, so ergo we're classy.

Alex turns to me like nothing happened and continues kissing me like the self-certified professional kisser she is.

"I know there's someone in there with you!" The lady calls out in a last ditch attempt to reclaim her bidet containing toilet.

Alex sighs, lazily twirling my hair around her finger, "Piper, can you tell her she's kind of killing the mood here."

"Okay." I'm about to push myself back from Alex's hold but she pulls me back in, and boldly declares, "Right after I've finished with you first, of course."

 _Of course_

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	11. so breathe my air and kiss me there

11\. so breathe my air and kiss me there

* * *

 _AN / Well this was a long time coming. Genuinely sorry, you guys. I kinda lost the motivation and general spirit with writing for a while. I really hate leaving you guys hanging but when writer's block takes hold together with work / life affairs it's really hard to just bounce back into the groove of it. But having said that I hope the 11k+ chapter helps ;)_

 _Anyway, I truly hope you enjoy this chapter._

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Alex had been slightly aloof in recent weeks.

Nothing dramatic for me to justify making a point over it but just enough for me to have actively noticed. I mean there hadn't been exact instances that bolstered up my theory, but the more I tried to _not_ notice - the more I obviously _did._

Over time my vague barely formed theories had slowly turned into real specific instances. Like when I declared my undying love for Lena Headey and Alex hadn't so much as blinked. That's when my worries truly hightailed.

Innocuous, I know. But let me tell you; under normal circumstances I'd be subjected to a series of ridiculously well thought out lectures over how Rachel Weisz was a _much_ better alternative, namely because she was 'well endowed' and 'had the sex appeal of Marilyn Monroe minus the drug use' _(_ her words, not mine)

All I painfully remember was how horrendously disinterested Alex appeared.

And now there are a whole gamut of reasons that increasingly lent weight to these consternations of mine.

"Hey." I call across the living room where we'd settled in for the evening. I turn my head to where Alex was sat at her work desk, her eyes intensely fixated on her laptop screen out in front.

She barely looks up, "Hmmm?"

"Come and sit with me." I point at the conspicuously empty sofa space beside me. "I'm feeling lonely and cold down here."

"Just a second, babe. Let me finish this up real quick."

I fall back against the sofa suddenly unable to concentrate on anything but the rapid tapping of Alex's fingers on the laptop keyboard.

Also there was the matter of the seemingly never ending paper work Alex suddenly had an affinity for. Don't get me wrong, the life of an advertising executive was draining to say the least, and I'm definitely no stranger to getting calls from Alex telling me she was going to be working late or watch her dash into the office on a Saturday morning for a pressing business development. But this was on an entirely new level. And don't get me started on the texts.

 _I'm going to be late_ texts are acceptable once or twice…or maybe a third time if I was feeling particularly generous but the fourth time with a barely tangible excuse, in the space of a week? No, in my books fourth time late evenings became synonymous with other clandestine escapades.

And it wasn't even the stack of paperwork that was my primary concern - it was the preoccupation and the weird vibes permeating the air between us.

It's almost as though Alex was purposely keeping herself busy in order to avoid talking to me. Which is such an outlandish and ridiculous thought.

Isn't it?

I turn the television off, unrolling my legs from beneath me, hoping the sudden lack of noise would at least tear her attention away from whatever stack of paperwork she was sheafing through. I think I'm going to have to start calling her Alex _paperwork_ Vause real soon.

Nothing.

I try and not let my disappointment show, instead I find myself staring at the blank television screen wondering whether it was too early to just call it a night.

Just as I was about to push myself up, Alex joins me, her eyes all apologetic, "Sorry, sorry, sorry." She shrugged out of her blazer and laid it over the arm of the sofa, "No more computers tonight, I promise."

"You said that yesterday night, and the one before that, oh and the one before that as well."

"Sorry, babe. I just lose track of all time." She snuggles up beside me, and places a conciliatory kiss against my cheek. "Won't happen again."

I rest my head against her shoulder and smile into the fabric of her sweater, "I'm going to turn myself into an A4 sized piece of paper for you to notice me from now on considering that's been your best friend of late."

I hear her sigh beside me, all remorseful, and it makes me immediately regret my unthinking remark. "Sorry, I didn't mean that." I gaze into her eyes, "I guess I'm just being cranky and needy. Y'know, the usual."

It's there. Delicately balanced on the tip of my tongue, yet I cannot seem to roll the question off out into the open where it belongs. Every time I'm even close, a fear takes hold where I'm going to hear an answer I'm not going to like.

And also I did not want Alex to start thinking I was a mistrustful girlfriend who needs constant updates on her whereabouts, no matter how precarious I was feeling. But lets face it, that's exactly what I am and I'm not proud of it.

Alex circles an arm around me, her fingers lightly threading through my hair, "I guessed I've missed that show of yours?"

"Just by a few hours in fact."

"Sorry."

I tip my head up, "What's all this for anyway?"

I feel Alex tense beside me, "What do you mean?"

I hold in my frown in at the strange question, "Your latest project I mean."

"Oh that...it's uh…we've been trying to close an investment deal with a potential foreign merger, and I guess it's taken a lot of my attention. It's just been really hectic lately, you know?" Alex removes her glasses and given them an unnecessary clean, "I wanted to get the bulk of admin out of the way before the end of the week…" She shakes her head, "But all that is besides the point. I'm all yours now."

That was an needless amount of detail. There was a small seed of uncertainty growing in the pit of my stomach, and I had to work very hard not to acknowledge it.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

There's a split second hesitation in Alex's expression that doesn't escape me, "Just keep me company, yeah?"

My chest shrinks a little, "I can do that, sure."

I let it go.

Forcing myself to disembark from the anxiety train I've boarded a few days ago. The thing is, Alex _always_ had big mergers and corporate agreements and other business-y things that I didn't fully understand - featured through her daily working life - so I found myself not _entirely_ convinced that was the sole reason she'd been so detached lately.

Anyway, let it go Piper. I forcibly tell myself despite the obvious cloud of niggling doubt floating right above my head.

Alex speaks again, this time much more like her usual self, "And besides, A4 paper has nothing on you, Pipes. You're much more worthy of my time, you know that."

"Hmmm, and you mine." I laugh softly, my head automatically craning for a kiss.

The question seared on my tongue had already easily melted away.

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"Chapman, why are you lying in the foetal position?"

Oh shit, damn it.

I spring up like one of those figurines in a Jack-in-the-box, only instead of emitting an expectedly pleasant melody, my head painfully ricochets against the desk I've been lying under and let out a somewhat of an ugly yelp of pain.

"Boss, what are you doing here?" I blurt out, sheepishly nursing my forehead. "I mean it's Wednesday. You don't come here on a Wednesday."

Jesus, could I sound anymore tragic, the fact I'm still kneeling doesn't bide me much of a competent presence either. Since becoming manager I'd been given full carte blanche of Haven's day to day operations; all the way from making decisions on what to serve during our seasonal menus, overseeing our regional branches, to determining our meal prices. This also extended to my much favoured afternoon naps that I treated myself with on occasion. But there were days where Red liked to sweep her watchful gaze over me, eyes always teeming with scrutiny. I presumed to check I hadn't burned the place down or made a total catastrophe of the food, myself or both.

But she came on Tuesdays

and today was Wednesday.

She throws me a scathing look, "Don't be ridiculous. I can come when the word 'day' appears in the days of the week."

It takes me awhile to work around that one, "But that's everyday."

She lets out a derisive huff, "Well done, Chapman. You make a great case for the failing American education system. I thought you were better than that and even better than acting like some schoolgirl caught red handed."

I stay quiet.

She crosses the room and opens the blinds, "Jesus, I didn't know a pretty girl like you even needed beauty sleep. Leave that to the likes of us old people."

She's just raining insults on me. God, I wish I carried a umbrella or better still a bucket so that when it filled I could just rain it back over her.

Actually no. I cared what Red thought of me because I wanted to be as successful and unflappable as her. Maybe I cared too much but every restaurateur in the region wanted to be like Red. She was the epitome of success: quick-thinking, not at all afraid to make unpopular decisions, and hadn't let the riches turn her into a pompous foodie. They were few and far between, but there were moments when she was impressed by me; her face softening and giving me that subtle nod of acknowledgement.

Those were rare, but so worth the wait.

She swipes her hand in the air, "But enough, I didn't come here for a confab. I actually wanted to congratulate you." She says this with a straight face, one that even verges toward a smile.

"Really?" I frown, regarding her, and noting her eyes weren't all narrow, which leads me to believe she is _not_ being sarcastic and _is_ in actual fact congratulating me.

"Since I was a little girl I dreamed of owning a place where people would come to eat and enjoy the tastes of what the earth had to offer." Red begins, her voice taking on that familiar note of nostalgia, "I remember one year my mother had returned from feeding the Russian soldiers. The Cold War had been at its worst and had claimed the lives of many. My mother knelt down, looked me in the eyes and said, Galina, _moya doch,_ you are one day going to feed the _world."_

As much as I was interested in Red's wistful wartime stories, I was hoping she could return to the point where she was praising me before she forgot.

"So thank you." She's staring at me with admiring eyes, even though I hadn't the faintest clue of what she was referring to. Nevertheless, I try and mask my impending smile with a grimace that I hoped look professionally curious but probably came across as me trying to pucker my lips at Red judging from her recoiling expression of displeasure.

"Thank you so much, Red. I always try and make sure we go the extra-"

She cuts me off, "Well Chapman, the congratulations are in order for that annoyingly stinkin' rich girlfriend of yours actually. She's the culprit in all of this."

My smile completely disappears, "Sorry?"

"My wish to serve the world is coming into fruition, Chapman. And _you_ of all people are going to join me for that ride."

It's the second time in as many years that Alex has something to do with Red's borderline manic and grandiose ideas and I knew I should have listened to my initial instinct; which is Red doesn't give out compliments or congratulations out that easily. Well to me anyway.

"She's a very hard woman to get hold off so I trust you to pass on the sentiments?" She continues, as though she hadn't just ruined my entire trajectory in life. "Seeing as you're uh associated with her I thought I could tell you instead."

Associated? Well wasn't that fucking hilarious. More like _dis-_ associated judging from the last few weeks of distinctly Alex-less nights I've had.

If ever I was told to describe Alex in one word based on recent times, it would be 'elusive' or 'hard to get hold off' or 'acting strangely' It's been so bad I've been a finger's breadth away from dialling 911 and reporting her as a missing person. This nearly happened _three_ times. It is clearly no laughing matter.

So Red, if you find her first, can you direct her back to our apartment? Please and thank you.

"Of course, Boss." I wrangle out instead.

Satisfied, she pivots around, already opening the door to leave, when I realise I never even asked the reason for these congratulations,"Boss?"

She turns around, gaze forever inscrutable, "What now?"

I had been so deep-laced with my Alex related thoughts. I'd forgotten to ask what this was all even for.

I'm too far up my own ass sometimes. I tend to forget to unplug myself out every once in a while and actually greet the world. "Why the congrats?"

Red stared at me, momentarily perplexed, which proves my earlier point. She's studying me like she's finally realised how much of a useless lackey I truly was, "Have you read my emails? Or listened to the countless memos during team briefs or maybe, maybe this has given you a clue…the fact your goddamn salary has increased by over a double?"

"I thought that was because Haven's turnover increased by triple amounts. I've been sending you the spreadsheets, and I thought I'd-"

"You thought you did so well as manager I decided to pay you double?" She scoffs, "Don't be so damn entitled, Chapman. Just because we've done better this month doesn't mean I'm going to start throwing money at you. It's July. Fourth of July always brings in more clientele." She shuts the door, and rests her hands on my shoulders, her smile returning, "No, I've got better news than that...our planning application has been accepted."

For a second I just stared, the cogs of my brain rustily turning. Then it hits me like a storm and giddily exclaimed, "Really?"

"Yes."

"How? When?" I ask confused, "I completely forgot about the application. I mean we submitted it only a month ago. Don't these things normally take months and months, sometimes even years?"

"You better believe it, Chapman."

"Wow!" I throw Red into an embrace which was a bad decision on my part since it ends up just being an awkward semi-hug. Jeez, Poussey was right; she _was_ all right angles and hard edges.

"Let…go."

"Sorry." I gladly jump back, "Boss, are you saying that our next Haven location is going to be in _London_?"

Red nods, her eyes flashing with barely held back mirth.

"This is no dig at your geographical knowledge but I have to ask." I hold my hands out in prerequisite apology, "As in London, England? The land of tea, the Queen, and Downton Abbey accents. And _not_ London, Ontario?"

She throws me a quizzical look, like I've completely lost it. Which lets face it, I may have. " Of course."

Like I said before, this kind of thing takes a heck of a long time to be approved. It was almost unheard for a relatively small company to be approved of expanding beyond the borders, let alone to another continent.

"So," I began, still confused what my girlfriends's role was in all of this, "What does Alex have to do with this?"

She takes a step back, "Well she heard we were trying to expand." (I may have told her myself) "…and made a recommendation to the approval committee. Mainly emphasising Haven's brand recognition and the high potential it has to appeal to new markets especially overseas." Red bunches her fists together in triumph "I have to say she's a wonder-worker." She directs me a serious look, "You're lucky to have her."

"I know." I whisper, more to myself.

So _that_ was why Alex was being so darn weird about things. She just didn't want to tell me so soon. And that in turn explained all the sudden late nights and constant excuses to head back into work. Fuck, you don't know how relieved I am.

"I still can't believe she didn't tell me this though."

Red just looks at me with strange pity. "Well I suggest you speak with her." She answers dryly before her lips turned upwards into a rarely seen grin, "And tell her I owe her a bottle of Russia's finest vodka - fermented using the finest grains and plucked straight from the plains of motherland itself."

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After my rather eye-opening conversation with Red I head back downstairs for the mid-afternoon brief. I'm supposed to lead it but I'm too preoccupied to barely focus on the issues on hand but somehow managed to get through it. My mood lifted and bordering on elation, I seriously entertain the thought of tackling the weekly finance reports I've been putting off for the past week.

But disregard the thought almost immediately and instead text Alex which was the exact opposite of taking my mind off it. Besides, I kinda miss her and there's no crime in being able to text my wonder working girlfriend.

[p/chapman] uh hello stranger. Massive congratulations is in order. I had to hear it from Red no less…that you have somehow yet again managed to make the impossible possible

[alex/atwood] oh yeah about that. Oops

[p/chapman] that's all you have to say? About that? Never mind the fact we've gone global. In hot-damn England of all places. All thanks to you]

[alex/atwood]I'm amazing, blah blah blah right?

[p/chapman] I can't decide whether you're being sarcastic or not. With Red I can totally understand, but you? Years of learning your tics and I still haven't mastered the difference ( also the written form makes that ten times harder) Where are you anyways?

[alex/atwood] You know me so well, babes. Ugh, I'm still stuck in this godforsaken place. By the way this is my spirit speaking. The real me has jumped off the top of Excelsior when I was forced to endure the third meeting about equity and insolvency.

[p/chapman] I thought you loved meetings? (sarcasm)

[alex/atwood] Not when they're attended by middle-aged white men who are more stimulated over the phrase variable profit than I do when you do that thing with your tongue

[p/chapman] the when I'm eating tongue or…?

[alex/atwood] depends on what you mean by eating

[p/chapman] careful.

[alex/atwood] ;)

[p/chapman] have you told said middle-aged men you're a motorbike riding lesbian who knows a thing or two about how to please with her own magical tongue?

[alex/atwood] What! Never! I don't want their collective balding heads exploding and cover me with their hetero brains. God no. I love my tailored D&G blazer too much for that to happen (also I should patent my tongue ;)

[p/chapman] You looked smoking in that by the way. (the two second glimpse I got of you this morning before you left anyway) and yes to patenting

[alex/atwood] You know I'll make it up to you

[p/chapman] are you going to be home at least before Homeland starts?

[alex/atwood] No can do. Real sorry. They're practically keeping me hostage here

[p/chapman] Can't you sue them for false imprisonment or something?

[alex/atwood] Ah I wish. I really gotta go. See ya tonight though?

[p/chapman] Okay see you then, love you

[alex/atwood] Love you more, Pipes.

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The door to the shower slowly eased open. The sudden cold air streaming in made me turn around. But the door had already shut leaving the cascading warm water running over my head once again.

"Hey." Alex's deep voice drifted into my ears, seconds later I feel her familiar body pressed into me, her curves perfectly fitting mine. "I didn't want to wake you last night."

"Hey yourself." I murmur, unable to stop myself from relaxing into her embrace. Alex had come home well after I'd gone to sleep last night. I vaguely remember her climbing into the bed at around midnight murmuring soft apologies. But I forgive her. She's a wonder worker after all and more than anything Red's revelation had finally put my mind at rest.

Despite Alex's comforting familiarity, I still felt myself easily react to her fingers gently drawing my hair back, the pads of her fingers tickling my skin. She pressed her face into my neck, "We've finally closed the deal."

She reaches out behind me, grabs a bar of soap and starts lathering it over my skin in soft, sweeping swirls. "It's been tough knowing you're already four episodes ahead of me, you absolute traitor."

I hide a smile, "How do you know?"

"Netflix knows everything, Pipes. That's the beauty of shared accounts."

"I should totally spoil the episodes for you, you know." I remark dreamily, much too transfixed on the soap gliding over my front, "It'll definitely teach you a lesson or two."

"But what have I done to deserve such heinous punishment?"

"Payback for all those lonely nights spent with myself."

"I just don't like you doing all these late nights, that's all." I answer instead, suddenly feeling all cold inside but forcing myself to match Alex's casual tone. "They're just making you work too hard."

"I love all this concern you have for me. Don't worry, I'm a big girl now."

"That reminds me, you absolute sly of a jerk," I jokily nudge her back, "I cannot believe you didn't even tell me about that London bid, Alex. Like it isn't the biggest thing that has happened to Haven."

Alex simply shrugs, "It's not concrete yet - although I'm fairly confident the secondary stages are going to be a smooth sail." Her eyes flicker to mine, "It's just that I didn't want to rush you into any false optimism in case it went wrong or it wasn't approved. I know how much that place means to you so I thought that was the right thing to do."

I can't help but smile in spite of myself, "You're so sweet to think all that."

"Aren't I?" Alex grins, as she casually brushes her mouth down my neck, slowly licking the trail of water droplets of my skin before treating me to a warm kiss. "And sly jerk? Really? I was expecting much better than that, at least a bunch of helium balloons and a cake with my name on it... for all of that effort I put in."

"Well, I'll be able to buy you proper birthday present next month with my newfound…not to shabby salary."

"Is that so?" Her face pulls into a relieved expression, "I was sort of getting tired of all the hand-crafted embroidery you've been _gifting_ me for the last three years."

"You told me you liked them!"

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings." Alex answers sheepishly.

"And you had to tell me now?" I retort jokily. "Right when I'm naked and vulnerable?"

"But you look so damn good naked and vulnerable." Alex's voice was pitched low, husky, "Do not use your body as leverage, Piper Chapman. You of all people should know that's my Achilles heel."

I don a smile, "Also you're all the talk at ours now. Trust you to take the limelight and you don't even work there."

"Face it. I'm just a box full of talents."

I slide my hands around her neck, deliberately pressing myself into her, our breasts making contact. A turned on kind of energy zooms right through me, obliterating all my previous thoughts. My heart is pounding wildly, "What else have you got hiding in that talent box of yours, huh?"

"Let me see." The declaration came out in one warm breath that caressed the base of my neck. She runs a purposeful hand down my thigh, the touch leaves a trail of blazing flames kindling through every layer of skin. Telltale fingers creeping into my centre much too slow as she kisses me open-mouthed, warm tongue mixing with the shower water. Alex pushes me against the tiled wall and tears her mouth away from me, leaving me dazed, "I'm sure you'e already know of _this_ specific talent. _But_ I can always remind you once again?"

She puts the question forward with such casualness she might as well be asking me what my choice of books would be; paperback or hardcover.

I force myself to remember how to breathe when she pries my legs apart and slide a thumb then an index, then I lost count because all I can concentrate on is the rhythmic thrusting of however many fingers so very keen to demolish me into the next hemisphere.

(Oh, and it's hardcovers by the way)

It's _sometime_ later when I step out of the bathroom, having hastily combed my hair and brushed my teeth. I meet Alex in the kitchen for breakfast, who left earlier in order to kickstart the most important meal of the day. She was wrapped in a bathrobe, busy flicking cigarette ash into the the tray in front of her. Her hair wet and half-tied into a lazy knot, and her face all flushed.

Alex takes a sip from her coffee and without preamble, lightly asks, "Same time tomorrow?"

I flushed. A little embarassed, when I think back to my rather raucous groans of pleasure and Alex had really showcased her talents; namely her unerring fingers that always found the spot.

"It's already pencilled in my diary." I say with a nonchalant tone, "Eight to maybe half eight, okay for you?"

There's the faintest lift of an eyebrow, "Just half an hour? You looked as though I should have carried on for hours back there."

The gall. The absolute gall.

I take a seat and pour myself some coffee, the delectable smell gladly hitting my caffeine craving brain, "Okay, no need to rub it in my face."

"Is that some kind of suggestion for next time, or?"

My eyes flickered to meet hers. Alex was a sure picture of unruffled confidence; so damn formidable yet so alluringly sexy. I take a seat opposite her and valiantly try and maintain a poker face when I catch her watching me with bemusement, her eyes unwaveringly unapologetic.

"Jesus, why are you so beautiful and annoyingly smug all at once?"

Just then the morning sun crowned behind Alex, and the light imbuing the side of her face made her actually glow. Like some fucking fairy tale angel. Oh my god.

"I don't know, I moisturise a lot, maybe?" She answers teasingly, taking a bite out of her Danish pastry.

"You haven't touched a face cream in your life, you wholesome liar."

"Wait, am I supposed to apologise?" Alex roves a hand through her hair, "It's no my fault I've happened to have won the genetic lottery."

"You wear arrogance so damn well." I shake my head for emphasis, "But I like it…a lot."

Alex laughs, and plates me a buttered croissant, "Is that a complimentary insult or an insulting compliment? I really can't tell."

"Oh please. Don't try and pretend you don't love it really. I have a lot of evidentiary events that support that claim."

"Go on I'm listening."

"Sorry, I'll need at a least a week of your time to go through each and every one of them. There's that many I'm afraid."

"Painful."

"Painfully accurate, I know."

* * *

"Don't worry though." Alex declares much later, eyeing from above her glasses, "You aren't too bad on the eyes either."

My lips curl into a smile when she throws me a charming grin that sends my heart careening in its usual manner. Alex pulls me in for a chaste kiss just as I playfully swat her hands away when she tries to nab my chocolate brioche.

We eventually segue into light conversation, the morning sun warm on and our faces, the day suddenly teeming with infinite possibility.

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"Jesus, this thing is heavy. Out of the way…giant cow butt incoming!"

Without glancing up from my computer, I take a step forwards and allow Nicky the space to pass me as she carried a plate of T-bone steak out of the kitchen.

It's only been a few weeks but I've finally managed to convince myself to tackle the weekly finances after much predicament. I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter which had been the main riding force of my decision making. I glance back at the screen, my eyes already beginning to fail on me. I hate graphs, tables and anything remotely numerical. Normally, I gladly let Alex mull over the money stuff, giving her a full reign over the numbers, but she texted me earlier saying she was too busy and was going to be held up at work. My phone pings again; it's Alex, this time stating she was likely going to be late and for me not to wait up.

I let out a drained sigh. I thought since finding out about the London bid all that was supposed to have ended. But if anything, it had become more frequent. My mood suddenly dampened I struggle to focus in on the graphs filling the screen, hoping to absorb the data simply by way of osmosis or diffusion and hope it sticks in my brain.

"Guys, why do we have to work to earn money?" Nicky bemoans when she returns from serving a customers pretty much blitzing whatever plans I had in trying to decipher what may as well be Egyptians hieroglyphics.

"Are you for real?" Poussey asks. She's walking into the kitchen carrying her lunch box and props herself onto one of the unused work tops. Poussey liked to spend her breaks in the kitchen rather than use the communal lunch room. She insisted it was the cold temperatures of the room that sopped her from eating there even though the entirety of Haven felt like living inside a furnace, the kitchen even more so. I highly suspect the location had more to do with the being closer to the customer service station - incidentally also where Brooke worked.

"I'm being serious," Nicky continued to expresses her first world problems. She turns to me, "Hey Piper, can you maybe give me two weeks paid leave so I can book this much needed vacation to the Canaries?"

"You know you have to give me six weeks' notice, Nicky." I answer, only half-listening and instead becoming increasingly irate at the computer. The thing was not being able to understand numbers made me inadvertently think of Alex who clearly did which in turn jolted my mind to her latest texts.

"So can you not tweak the rules a little? C'mon for a friend at least?"

I open the spreadsheet sighing with frustration, why do the July and June numerical graphs not match up? Fucking Excel.

"Can I claim mitigating circumstances then?" Nicky continued, a continuous drone hovering around my ears. "There must be a clause somewhere..."

 _I'm going to be home late_

And that pie chart; why do the slices keep rotating whenever I hovered the mouse over it. Fucking percentages.

 _Don't wait up._

"Fuck!" I punch the screen in a sudden outburst of anger and stand up, feeling all physically agitated.

"Woah!" Poussey nearly falls off the counter, "What in the living hell was that banshee noise for?"

"Nothing." I huff, pushing a strand of hair away from my forehead - keenly aware I'm not exactly making a great case for the cool, level-headed manager role I'm desperately trying to invoke here, "Sorry…just a brief math-induced rage incident."

"Seriously?" Poussey regards me speculatively but becomes distracted when she spots Brooke just whiz past the kitchen doorway.

Luckily for me, Nicky takes over, "I'm kinda concerned what you'll be like when you find out about quadratic equations…boy those will send you into a real flying rage or how about trigonometry?" She raises her eyebrows, "That shit is going send you spinning into the stratosphere."

I hold my tongue. I don't want to provoke her into more talk.

Nicky pats me on the back, and snuggles up beside me, "Now tell me what the real 411 here is, Chapman? I mean we all know you have temper issues but a few numbers are not going to send you batshit. So how about the real deal?"

I throw her a scathing look, "Why do you always assume there's a secondary reason for my emotions?"

"Because that tends to be the case…based on historical evidence anyway." She smoothly pans, daring me to disagree.

"I'm going to call 911, if you continue to invade my personal space." I make a point of backing away trying in vain to both create some distance between us valiantly hoping I didn't give her enough clues for her to realise she's _right, right and right._

I just don't want to give her the benefit of knowing she's right any time soon. Even worse when she finds out it's Alex-related. AGAIN. No I'd much rather endure a cycle in our industrial dishwasher than declare _that._

"Hey Poussey what do you think?"

"It's obvious ain't it? She's missing her gal." Poussey smirks without missing a beat when I incline my head at her in annoyance. "What?" She shrugs her shoulders in protest. "It's true though. Only noticeable because you haven't been talking about her non-stop."

"I do _not_ do that."

"Girl, we know everything about that girl. More than I do about you."

"Who's missing who?" Taystee waltzes in, earphones dangling from her neck as she paused the music she'd been listening to. "Why you lookin' all devilish, Chapman?" She asks when she catches my thunder-face. "Ah, she's missing her gal. It's written all over her face."

Poussey glances at Nicky, their faces a picture of trying to hold in a snort, "Jesus, is it that obvious?"

Taystee shrugs her shoulders, "You should look in the mirror sometime, P. It really is way too obvious. Plus, I'd have helped you with your needs but-"

"Needs?" I cut her off, amazed at how she said that without a trace of irony, "Nobody is missing anyone. No-one, nothing." I quickly log out of the computer and hastily gather my paperwork, feeling way too wrought to continue, whilst also immensely regretting my decision in taking work into the kitchen. "I'll be in my office if anyone needs me."

"Where are you rushing off to, Chaps?" Nicky calls after me. "I really do wanna help. Is it Alex?"

Nicky was one of two things: a bad popup ad I couldn't get rid of by simply clicking a button and a self-appointed social secretary I couldn't just fire.

"Nichols, haven't you got any work to do?" I say with a little too much vehemence.

"Work?" She asks as though employment was an entirely new concept I'd just invented on the spot.

"Yes, you know that thing you get paid for?"

She tilts her head in mock amusement, "Since when did you get so snarky? Jeez."

"Just do what you're supposed to, okay?"

Without waiting I almost bolt through the double doors that lead out of the kitchen and headed off toward our offices.

Under different circumstances I might have handled that with a little more tact and diplomacy, but I couldn't bear the thought of them knowing they hadn't been so far off the mark.

Too close.

It's a few hours later when Poussey approaches me in the office.

"Hey, the gang are headed to Baz's for a couple of post-work drinks, you in?"

I push back my chair with a sigh, arching my back to work out the kinks I'd acquired from being bent over the computer for the last hour or so.

I'm just shaking off the thought of having to spend yet another night of being on my own. Last night I started asking the bottle of red wine for its reactions on the Homeland episodes I've been watching - that's the extent of one-man affairs these days.

I shake my head in apology, not really in the mood for a rowdy night out, "My head's sort of in the clouds. I'm going to have to take a rain check. Sorry."

I gather my stuff and start clearing out of the room.

'Nicky's buying though."

"No I am not." Nicky voice drifts in from the corridor, "I'm already the designated driver. Don't make things even more torturous for me."

I don a smile, shouldering my bag, "You guys have fun though."

"Fine, your loss dude. We'll see you tomorrow."

"I look forward to all your hung-over faces tomorrow." I add, "I'll bring in some aspirin and a few sunglasses for the most affected of casualties."

We're all outside when Taystee leans over me. I'm not sure where she appeared from, but that shouldn't surprise me. "Girl, I'm immune to hangovers." She side-eyes Nicky, "I'm placing all my bets on Nichols here, abandoning her DD duties during the very first hour. I mean has anyone seen that girl sober at a party? Like at all?"

"C'mon!' Poussey yells, her head sticking out of Nicky's beat up Buick, badly parked and blocking the flow of Manhattan rush hour traffic, "We're holding up traffic!"

Taystee quickly hugs me goodbye and sprints towards the car. "See ya!"

I wave my hand and start walking toward the subway, headed for home.

* * *

I reach out for my bag of crisps that had slid off my lap. My arm stretched over the arm of the sofa and hoping my fingers were just long enough to b able to grab hold of it.

The closing credits of Homeland eventually fade into silence and I'm pulled back into the silence and the swell of my own thoughts.

Giving up on my quest for the crisps, I sit back and gaze out of the window, the city lights flickering in the distance, and contemplate whether I should just head off to sleep and abandon the waiting up for Alex. It didn't escape me that this was fast becoming a regular occurring question.

Haven was going to immensely busy tomorrow, simply by way of it being Friday, and considering it was forecasted to be a hotter than usual weekend too, it was no doubt going to bring in droves of customers. Not to mention service probably being slowed down by the girls all nursing hangovers from the night before.

Plus, Alex _did_ text for me not to wait up.

Eventually it's the tendrils of sleep that wins out. I catch the beginnings of a yawn and roll over, my movements slow and awkward, feeling tipsy from the couple of glasses of red I've had.

I fleetingly wonder whether I should text Alex; send something light and casual, implicitly letting her know I was thinking of her. I quickly tap in a message, add a little extra because I'm drunk, and drop my phone back on my lap, pretending it wasn't just to calm my own nerves. Also my emotions had been heightened by the alcohol so that didn't help in matters either.

Climbing off the sofa, I start turning off the lights and head into the kitchen to clear away the dishes. A quick glance at the clock tells me it's already past one in the morning.

My phone pings. Followed by another and then another.

A triumphant smile crossed my face. Clearly the selfie of myself and the conveniently downward gazing angle that showed plenty of cleavage had done the trick.

I tap the message open but realise it's just the group chat.

[Poussey] Dude you've missed out. We somehow stumbled in during happy hour. They were serving jaegerbombs at a dollar a pop. Hashtag alcohol heaven

[Taystee] I shoulda placed real money on my Nichols bet. DD, my rounded ass. Girl, bolted for the bar faster than Usain damn Bolt. She needs to join the AA or something.

[Nicky] What bet? By the way Chapman, we saw Alex walking out of Masa's. Can you let her know she looked a hot thang in that get up she was wearing. Ugh, what the fuck did you right in your life to bag such a specimen?

[Poussey] Hot damn, she sure was

[Taystee] She's drunk. I'm drunk. Lawd, we all drunk

[Nicky] So who's riding with me?

[Poussey] someone take her keys!

[Nicky] hot thang. Strangely I'm reading this text in a southern accent. Hot thaaang. Can you hear that, you guys? Has anyone ever done cowboy role-play? I bet you guys I'd be so fucking sweet at it.

I throw my phone away.

I suddenly felt like I needed to walk off the anxiety that clung onto me like a bad dream. I'm having a very disconcerting though that focuses in on the fact Alex may be lying to me.

What on earth was she doing walking out of one of New York's most expensive restaurants when she was supposed to be head deep in paper in her office no less?

I forced myself to take a deep breath and to think rationally. Maybe she was doing field research for a would be client? That easily explained things. But I'm not allowed to be calm for very long. Why would she be carrying out field work, surely she was too high up in the rankings to be wasting her time with such petty groundwork. It's the kind of job an intern would be assigned to do.

Another ping.

My heart lurches.

I had no choice but to look.

It's from Alex, replying to my earlier text.

[Hey Pipes, don't stay up late. Stuck in the office. Going to be a while. Sweet dreams]

I re-read it again.

Sweet dreams? Well isn't that mightily ironic considering my dreams were going to be everything _but_ sweet tonight.

.

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* * *

.

.

.

I decided not to bring _that_ up.

The thing is, I love Alex a great deal. She's the best thing that has happened to me and there wasn't a day that went by where I wasn't grateful for that.

She constantly reminds me the of all the reasons I fell for her. It's the littlest of things she does that make me love her even more. It's the way she touches me, the way she looks at me…the way she makes me feel. It's all of it.

And I loved Alex too much to ruin any of that.

"Did someone put something in your coffee this morning?"

I swung around, managing to paste on a smile, "If that's the case, we've only got one suspect then."

I can feel her searching stare boring into me, "You've hardly said a word all morning, and you've barely touched your breakfast. It's not that bad is it?"

Although I was starving, my stomach had been too busy constantly trying to wring itself out, "No, Al. It's great. It's just that that I had a really big dinner last night."

Alex had never been big on the touchy-feely, oh we're so cut and let platonically hold hands while watching _The Notebook_ or something equally mainstream and horrifying. So when she rounds the table, places a kiss over my lips and envelops me into a hug, I can't help but feel a horrible guilt wash over me. It's remarkable how easily her familiar scent tickling my nose puts a stop to the flow of underlying ease I'd been harbouring. "If this is about last night. I'm sorry."

"Alex, don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, 'course."

She squeezes my hand affectionately, and traces a gentle finger over my cheek, eyes burning with a sudden intensity that lasered right into me, "You're truly something else, Piper Chapman."

Nearly three years and counting, and I am still acting surprised when Alex acts like a giant schmaltzy love dork - as though that wasn't her default setting anyway and the other lecherous, super sexy sway me into bed with a flick of those greens was just an occasional setting she liked to dial to.

It strikes me suddenly when I realise the nearly three years is actually a going to be a full three years next weekend.

"Hey, did you know it's our anniversary in a week?" I ask softly. Alex has never been one to place much emphasis on marking the duration of relationships much less acknowledge and celebrate certain milestones. "I can't believe it's been nearly three years already."

Instead of the usual rejoinder or at the very least a sarcastic smirk, Alex's face turns deadly serious, "Who told you?"

I furrow my brows and tilt my head quizzically, "Really? Is there a third person in this relationship I could possible have asked?"

"Oh." Alex simply nods her head, watching a tampon commerical playing out on the tv over my shoulders with more concentration than anyone should ever be allowed. I'm waiting for more but her gaze remains stubbornly fixed on the screen.

"Oh?" I echo. "Is that all you've got?"

"What?" She pulls off her glasses and, and wipes the lenses with her sleeves. I can't help but notice the increasing frequency with which Alex needs to clean her glasses over these last few weeks. I know a nervous tic when I see one. I try to shake off the strange sense of disquiet rumbling in my head.

"You aiming for the world record for the cleanest glasses or something?"

"Come again?" Alex asks distractedly.

Any other day I wouldn't have been able to resisting on picking up on that unthinking sexual innuendo but I'm too off-kilter by Alex's completely left of field behaviour to even begin striking the effort.

I shift my weight on the chair, and work myself up for the next question, "Alex, are you okay?"

"Yeah, course. Why wouldn't I be?"

She was notoriously bad at lying and now was no exception.

I turn to face her, watching her cautiously, Nicky's drunken text roiling through me all of a sudden. "You've been acting weird for a while and at first I just played it off but it's beginning to worry me now." I begin carefully, "And please do not tell me it's work-related."

She stays quiet, before murmuring with much less gusto, "I think you're just imagining it, Piper."

"I don't think so." I make a point of brushing her hair away from her cheeks and point at them, flushed and red."See?"

"See what?" She scoffs, and makes a move to stand up, "I've been frying stuff. It's just the room that's a little hot. You're the one who's being weird now, don't you think?"

"Not so fast." I reel her back down, "It's barely above fifty degrees which is why we're wearing woolly jumpers so cut the crap."

Alex turns around, and fixes me with a pleading look, "Look, can we do this another time?"

"Alex, do what another time?!" I work to lower my voice into something slightly less than full on yelling while at the same time trying to ignore the escalating roar in my ears, "Explain it to me. I'm listening."

"Piper…" She sighs exasperatedly. "Look-"

Alex is cut off by the ringing of her cellphone. She snatches it up and glances at the screen before turning to me, "I'm going to have to take this."

I just nod, suddenly feeling depleted.

I watch her disappear into our bedroom, closing the door behind her as she did. A minute later, there's the muffled timbre of her voice, much too low for me to make out anything she was saying. Alex eventually re-emerges some five minutes later.

"I have to go." She announces.

"Where?"

"I uh…" Alex glances back at the door as though it was going to an inspire an answer our of her, "Rob called, something about a last minute closure. I'll be back, I promise."

I've had enough. "On a Sunday?" I ask with a little too much sharpness. I squarely fix my stare on Alex, "Is it going to be at the Masa's?"

Her eyes round in surprise - it's obvious the question caught her completely off-guard, "How do you know about that?"

Any hope I had of it being something innocuous dwindled out of me when I took in Alex's reaction.

"That's what you focus on? How I found out?" I stop talking for a second, waiting to calm the pounding of my heart, "Just what the hell is going on, Alex?"

Silence.

"Ring him." I say with sudden conviction. "Ring _Rob_ now and I'll hear for myself about this emergency closure meeting that happens on a Sunday." My voice drops to barely a whisper, "Really Alex, it will put my mind at rest. Please can you do that for me?"

Alex lets out a weary sigh like she had made a decision on her internal dilemmas. Her mouth slowly flattened into a resolute line.

She sits down on the sofa, her hand beckoning for me to come and sit as well.

I'm suddenly acutely aware of the heaviness that has settled around us so I'm still left standing, unsure of her motives.

Alex is not angry nor is she particularly shocked by my accusations which leaves me wondering whether all my misgiving had been completely off the mark or better yet, this whole time I'd been in some twisted fabric of my own constructed reality.

"Have you turned into a statue now? I can't tell you things from where you're stood, Piper."

There's something in Alex's tone and the way her eyes couldn't settle on one part of me for too long that made my heart shrink with apprehension. It's the first time she looked truly uncomfortable which in turn made _me_ uncomfortable.

My first instinct is to simply refuse. Lock the answer in a safe and throw away the key. Because in my irrational thinking that meant I could avoid whatever Alex was going to tell me. It's how I was always taught to deal with problems. If the problem is too big; bury it. If the hole isn't big enough, make it bigger. If the problem is so big that no hole could conceivably contain it; bury your head in the ground instead.

Alex was looking at me with eyes that told me I was heading into the sticking my head into the ground territory. My legs rubbery, I head to the sofa and I find myself sat beside her.

She slowly turns around and faces me, her expression downcast and averting my own. There's a reluctance bouncing off her in waves and it's almost as though she was working her way up to something big. Alex closes her eyes and let's out a long exhale, her hands balled into fists.

"Okay, so I was going to do this next week. Actually if I could change that, I would do it in two weeks, or maybe a month or hell next year. But _this_ is not how I imagined it, even when I considered every worst possible scenario."

"I'm confused. You're confusing me." I breathe out.

"Whatever you think it is, Piper. It's not that." Alex replies laconically. "I promise you."

"Al, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Okay, okay, okay. But just give me a minute, yeah?"

She doesn't wait for my answer and climbs off the sofa, before unlocking the front door and walking out of the apartment. My thoughts are running ragged, throat too tight, heart too agitated but I force myself to stay exactly where I was.

Alex finally returns, "Now close your eyes."

My brows furrow at the request. If I didn't know any better, it sounded more like a desperate plea than a lighthearted ask.

"Okay, now open." I was about to cock my head into impatience, when everything I was going to say or think vanquished almost immediately.

In my hands, I was holding a small velvet box.

I look at Alex for an explanation because obviously there are thousands if not millions of perfectly plausible reasons why my girlfriend of nearly three years was handing me small boxes on a Sunday night wearing an expression that would most definitely win the trying to appear blithe but failing spectacularly contest.

There were so many reasons apart from the one careering through my head at the moment to easily explain this specific situation.

Obviously.

Obviously.

Obviously.

Alex, whose eyes never looked so viscerally green, juts her head away all of a sudden. I feel every grain of casualness dissipating into the air between us, instead it's replaced by a silence weighted by a sort of profound solemnity I have never before experienced.

"What's that?" I dumbly ask, because that's the only line of speech I managed to access as I eye the velvet lined box with a stare that could burn through every object imaginable.

"Open it."

"Alex, what is it?"

"Pipes, please. Just open it."

With shaky hands I gently pry the lid and open it with a reverence I sense the moment deserves. Inside, it's a note nestling on a bed of silver satin.

Alex doesn't say anything. She's watching me with such vigour it makes me swallow any questions that had shot upwards, and focus on unfolding the piece of paper instead. It takes me a minute to quieten the furore of my thoughts enough for me to read the singular line written in Alex's familiar spidery scrawl.

I'm about to counter with yet another question when I finally make sense of its content and distantly register the note slipping out of my hand where it slowly descends to the floor. My heart falls a mile, it feels as though someone had snapped the cables to an elevator with me still in it. There's a dizzying energy that seems to engulf me whole and it leaves me teetering. My head recites the four words over and over again, frantically re-reading them again, as though there was the slimmest of chances I'd misread them. Which is a real possiblity considering the very precarious state of my mind at present.

"Surprise." Alex gives a noncommittal shrug but the anxiety is clearly visible; it's in her eyes and the way in she kept sliding her hands through her hair.

"Alex…"

"Look, I planned this all out for next week. You know on our _actual_ anniversary but if you feel like this is not the right time, I under-"

"Alex, can you stop talking for a second?"

She smiles sheepishly, "Sorry, it's these fucking nerves. Jeez, it's not the most familiar of feelings I've experienced, but I-"

I cut her off with a kiss.

They've been known to be effective conversation enders and this one was no exception. I kiss her like it'll be my last kiss ever; ferocious and deep. I kiss her like it was my first ever kiss. I kiss her with the conviction of a thousand yes's all blooming at the back of my throat.

Eventually we break apart to catch our breaths. Alex draws back just far enough to look into my face, her eyes a tinge cautious, "So is that a yes?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" I punctuate each yes with a giddy kiss, not even sure whether I was crying, or laughing or maybe I was doing both. It's a constellation of emotions all mashed together, yet all of them somehow communicated my answer over and over _and over again._

"You had me there for a second." Alex fake-clutched her chest, "You are very taxing on the old heart, Piper Chapman."

"I can't believe…Alex, I-" I shake my head, trying to shrug myself out of the feeling like I was going to burst out of my skin any second. There's a wetness trawling down my cheeks, my fingers trembling and wondering for a moment whether I'm just in the midst of a dream where at any moment I was going to wake up.

But then Alex kisses me, tenderly at first, then more deeply, until I feel her hands come gently around my waist and pulled me in near. And it's Alex's warm, solid presence that damn well proved I was awake, probably more awake than I have ever done in the entirety of my life.

She gently shrugs herself out of our embrace and takes a step back, "Hang on, I'm not done yet."

Alex slowly drops to one knee, her eyes never leaving mine. She rummages in her pocket blazer and produces a second velvet covered box, this one much smaller than the previous one.

I think I'm going to end up on my knees beside her because the power and energy suddenly seems to have escaped my body. My heart races erratically, the blood racing through my veins bursting with surprised anticipation.

"Okay, here goes nothing." Alex's tone was distinctly more serious now, "Piper Elizabeth Chapman, ever since I've met you in that apartment corridor some years ago, I never thought an argument over trash was going to lead me here. Since that night I couldn't take my eyes off you. Every time I saw you, touched you, felt you, I was filled with an overwhelming feeling of not being able to breathe and think straight. Your smile would light up every cell in my body and I couldn't get enough of it. Right now, this very second, this very moment; I feel your presence in my head and heart and soul, and I cannot imagine living in a world where you're not here with me…" She unclasps the box and there it is, a silver ring with a central stone that looked as though it reflected every last ray of light in the room, "…so would you do me the honours?"

This time I knew exactly what to do but that didn't guarantee I was not going to go into a renewed cycle of tears.

What on god's green earth did I do to deserve to have the world's best girlfriend?

I found Alex's hand and laced her fingers through mine, and helped her back up. I pull myself flush into her, cradle her neck, and whisper with a tremble into her ear, " _Yes_ , a thousand times over."

Slight correction; what on god's green earth did I do to have the world's best _fiancée?_

Goddamn, it's got a nice ring to it doesn't it?

Just as well, it perfectly matches the ring now circled around my finger.

.

.

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* * *

.

.

.

"So was that what all the sneaking and late nights were about?"

"Oh, you noticed?"

"Ha ha, very funny. I was this close to either checking myself into a psychiatric ward or hiring a private detective. Neither seemed like the appropriate actions of a sane person."

"If you had waited for just another week all would have been revealed. I reserved a table at Masa's and had it all envisioned, down to the exact moment I was going to drop on my knees. But _someone_ clearly had to thwart that plan."

"I'm sorry, Alex."

"Hey, don't be. If anything you've spared me the spectacle of public proposals. So _not_ my thing."

"You mean to tell me you're not the hardened exec you thought you were? Also I cannot wait to show my ring off at work. The girls are going to flip."

"You're not going work."

"Huh?"

"As of now, you're officially off for the next two weeks. I've managed to wrangle you some last minute annual leave with your boss. So the ring boasting will have to wait until after."

"Jesus, is there anything you _can't_ do?"

"...because you're going to be in London for fourteen whole days...and yes, with me. The girl who can do all."

"Alex..."

"Consider it a sort of pre-wedding honeymoon, if there's such a thing."

"I don't know what to say."

"How about everything but no? It's all paid for and I can't bear the fucking paperwork. And you know how I am with paperwork."

"Alex paperwork Vause."

"It's all in the name."

"Also can we not use the word 'paperwork? Like ever again?"

.

.

.

"You know I've already planned out the details of the wedding. It's going to be pastel coloured in theme...sort of rustic fall inspired with a winter twist. And the decor is definitely going to have at least one arch made up of these crimson and burgundy flowers, I mean obviously we can't have lilies or crocuses because they're spring flowers and that would definitely clash."

"That was quite the detail, Pipes. And heaven forbid different flowers mixing. I cannot even begin to imagine the absolute catastrophe that would be." Alex grins and slopes her hands under my jacket to circle my waist. The crisp London sun glimmered through the clouds casting a silhouette against the imposing tower of Big Ben that stood tall behind us. All around us was a hubbub of activity, the steady throng of red double decker buses whizzing past us creating an almost non-stop blur of red along Westminster Bridge.

"So I guess the stereotypical lesbian wedding I had planned is off the table?" Alex chuckles.

"Define lesbian wedding."

"Al fresco surroundings, matching white three piece suits, super perfect photography and lots of lots of alcohol, of course."

My lips curl into a smile, "I'm definitely down with the large quantities of alcohol. There also has to be an abundance of tequila and daiquiris though. And I need at least one good picture so that I can gloat to my old friends over how perfect you are."

Alex raises an amused eyebrows, "Is that so? Have you asked me whether _I'm_ happy to be so objectified?"

"Oh give over, we both know you're too photogenic for your own good. And being objectified by me is one hell of a compliment."

"Wow, that's some twisted logic right there, Pipes. But pray tell me more of these supposed good aesthetics of mine." Alex suddenly grabs my hand and pulls me into the alleyway we'd been walking past. It's away from the eyes of tourists and British commuters, the noises of big city quieted down. Alex pressed my back against the wall and snakes her hands under my top, lightly running her fingers up and down my sides. "I mean which ones in particular are you very fond off?" She continues, as I felt the tips of her fingers teasingly brush against the undersides of my breasts, which leads to an involuntary groan. "I mean is it the face? Or maybe my hands?" She squeezes my nipples hard, just as her thigh purposely dug into the juncture between my legs.

I'm severely worried I'm going to end up on the UK version of Youtube if I don't hold back this fucking loud moan. British people already think we Americans are such loudmouths so one more (turned on) American isn't going to change that.

Alex threads her arms around my neck, and met my lips with an urgent intensity, "Or perhaps it's my mouth?"

"I think..." I pause and search for Alex's lips again and whisper in low warm breaths, "I think it's all of it. Every single part of you, I love."

We stop for a minute allowing the unthinkingly serious moment to flourish.

Alex rests her forehead against mine, "I love you, Piper Chapman." She ran a light finger over my jaw and kissed it, "And I can't wait to repeat that again at the altar, al fresco or flower arches otherwise."

My chest tightens and I can almost hear my ribs creak in protest which is just as well since my heart was already casually cruising at somewhere north of a hundred miles an hour. "I love you too, but don't test the strength of my love by making me wear a three piece suit, I genuinely mean it."

"Whatever you say, babe." Alex answered heartily, and kissed me, "As long as you're there, I don't really care about anything else."

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 _AN / The end._

 _I've got an actual tear in my eye. Sigh._

 _Thanks for joining me on this journey all you lovely people. it's been an absolute pleasure and I've truly enjoyed writing this piece and I hope you've liked reading it too. As always I'd love to hear all of your thoughts, your engagement really does mean a lot to me. Meanwhile, for any updates re future fics, vauseman stuff, amongst other things, check out my tumblr: girlfromthevillage_

 _Cheers!_


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